


Suddenly Everything Has Changed

by lazarus_girl



Category: Faking It (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7449124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following a messy and complicated breakup, Karma turns to Amy for support, strengthening their bond in ways they never thought possible.</p><p>  <i>“She’s broken and broken-hearted.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Look Back

**Author's Note:**

> AU (ish). Future fic. Follows canon. I’ve been wanting to write more college-era Karmy for a long time. I wouldn’t say this is what I imagine their college years to be like per se, but I was interested in putting together the college setting with a world where Karma is in an established relationship beyond canon and how that impacts her connection to Amy in more realistic terms beyond petty jealousy or something that leads them to question the validity of their connection. Thus, this fic was born. Where possible, real names and places are used, but some creative license has been taken in order to fit the story. Fair warning, this touches on – but does not explicitly depict – themes that might be triggering for some people. If I say too much, it’ll ruin the impact of what happens, but said themes do tie in with Karma’s obvious insecurities that have been established canonically. As a fun side challenge, I decided to work to a smaller word count than usual, so each of the chapters are like a glimpse into part of the day, rather than chronicling the whole thing. Thank you as always to my lovely beta and to everyone still loving and reading this pairing. You’re the fuel that keeps me going. Special mention to @lesbiandlust. I hope this is a good birthday present! Title from The Flaming Lips song of the same name.

_“There are some people you’ll never see again. At least, not in the same way.”  
_ — Iain S. Thomas, _I Wrote This For You._

***

College isn’t really like what you expected.

That’s not entirely true, it’s just not like what you saw in your Netflix binges of old shows from when The CW was still The WB. It’s fun, for sure. You love New York; you’ve met and made friends with the most amazing bunch of people. Jordan, Cassie, Charlie, and Matt are like family to you now, albeit spread out across two apartments opposite each other. You love your major and your faculty. The Film Department feels like home and you’re well into your junior year, settled into college life. You’re living the dream. You’re living _your_ dream in all its elaborate full-colour glory. You’re doing and being more than you ever imagined back in Austin, but no one told you about how to juggle the demands of everything. No one told you about the reality of the workload and the weight of expectation. No one told you about how easy it is to feel like a spectator in your own life. No one told you how to deal with the inevitable separation that occurs when you don’t even live in the same state as your mom, your sister or your best friend in the whole world.

If there’s a guidebook for this, yours got lost in the mail.

You wish you could shake the nagging feeling that something isn’t quite right. It’s not sadness, or loneliness, or anything like that at all. It’s just _odd_ , something you don’t have a name for, tick-tocking away in the back of your mind. Ceaseless. It’s starting to impact upon everything, keeping you awake at night, monopolising your thoughts so you can’t read, work, write, or _anything_ really, and you don’t know who to tell or what to tell them, because you can’t even fucking _describe_ it to yourself, let alone anyone else. It’s been there ever since you went home for Thanksgiving a couple of weeks ago, and had to deal with seeing Karma’s boyfriend across from you at the dinner table, enduring his preppy Prince Charming bullshit up close, nauseated when your mom was taken in just like Karma was when they met a over a year ago. That makes you sound jealous, but you’re not. You don’t like the guy, Lauren doesn’t, hell, even Molly and Lucas don’t. Never in your life did you think you could loathe anyone more than Liam, but you do. Liam seems almost saintly by comparison. Mostly, you’ve managed to negotiate his presence in her life, you tolerate each other, but the longer he and Karma have been together, the more he’s dominated everything. You visit her at Fairfield less. She visits you here at Tisch less. You’re reduced to texts, calls, FaceTime, and email. You stepped back to spare her and yourself. It got too complicated. Too messy.

It’s not that you don’t care – there’s no world where you don’t care about Karma – it’s just, you learned to care _less_. Not to cut the cord between you exactly, just slacken it off. It was mutual. She understood. She came to you first. You didn’t want to be _that_ person: the clingy bestie, the lovesick quasi-ex-girlfriend, paranoid and jealous. More than that, you didn’t want a repeat of the Liam mess, or the Reagan, Felix, and Sabrina mess that followed like some weird romantic domino run, doomed to set up and collapse time after time. They never lasted, no matter how hard you tried. The love was never enough. This time, the distance meant Ethan’s actually stayed the course with Karma longer than anyone else, which is terrifying in itself.

It’s a terror more acute than the fact that you’re sitting in a crowded living room while Drake blares in the background to drown out the horrendous torrential rain, on a couch in front of a laptop with nothing on the screen besides the title of your unwritten paper that’s due in mere days. Everyone else is oblivious, clock-watching for late Chinese food (Matt), texting (Jordan), or arguing about the merits of the Drake album that’s blaring in the background (Cassie and Charlie) while they’re meant to be reading for their own assignments – a reading party, Cassie said. You didn’t know the emphasis was on the party. You showed up in your favourite sweater and ripped jeans, feeling _very_ underdressed. Everyone’s so involved in what they’re doing, they don’t even hear the doorbell the first time it rings, or the second, or the third. Eventually, you realise that _no one_ is about to move, no matter how hard you stare at them. You sigh deeply, slam your laptop closed, and push yourself up off the couch to answer the door.

For a second you can’t believe what you’re seeing on the other side and you think it’s your overtired brain playing tricks, making you see what you want to see.

First surprise: it’s not Nico, the cool delivery guy with the purple mohawk with the huge order from The Golden Dragon.

Second surprise: it’s Karma, soaked to the skin and dripping water all over the floor. She looks pale and tired, carrying only a small backpack.

“Karma?” you blurt out, stupidly.

The music stops. The chattering stops. The rain stops. Everything just stops.

She looks at you, opening and closing her mouth, struggling to speak. There’s no cute ‘Hi’ with her dorky little wave, there’s no bounding into the apartment and announcing herself to everyone like she has before. There’s none of that, because her bottom lip starts to wobble, and you just _know_ what’s coming. You pull her into your arms the second she breaks down into horrible, wracking sobs, body crumpling. You’re the only thing holding her up. You can hear Matt and Charlie whispering behind you, and you feel compelled to shield her from their view, stroking her hair. She feels so small in your arms, more bony and angular than before, her girlish softness long gone.

“It’s OK, it’s OK,” you soothe. “Whatever’s wrong, it’s going to be OK.”

“Ethan,” she gets out between sobs. “It’s finished,” she gulps in air. “I left.”

That nagging feeling isn’t there anymore. It’s a full-blown pain, burning square in your chest. You were wrong, you were _so_ wrong to step back, even though she wanted and needed you to do it. You’ve failed her.

You turn around to see Cassie and everyone else congregated in a misshapen semi-circle, full of concern, but self-conscious and awkward because they’ve never seen this side of her before. Except for Matt, who moved in late, they all know Karma well. She’s sunny, she’s happy. She’s the girl that looks up cocktail recipes on the internet, makes up dance moves, and is the triple crown winner of the karaoke competition at the little dive bar you all go to. She’s the girl that can bring them to tears with her compositions, even when they’re played on a USB keyboard connected to your laptop. She used to be as frequent a visitor as Tyler, Jordan’s boyfriend, who’s spent most of the last month here. But, then everything changed, and the separation happened – a neat line that divides all the came before and after. All the progress you made as friends wasn’t erased exactly – she’d still tell you about pretty girls at Fairfield, you’d go to clubs with her, she’d vet girls and you’d vet boys – but it was different, you could tell she was holding something back during those long night-time FaceTime sessions or face-to-face chats when you visited, staying over with her before you’d both go to see Lauren at Yale. Now, it’s abundantly clear exactly what she was hiding: the truth about Ethan.

“We’ll go to my apartment OK, get you out of these clothes,” you suggest softly, finally able to let go of her when her tears seem to be subsiding. “You’re freezing.”

She just nods, swiping at her face, seeming frustrated that she’s upset at all. None of this is making any kind of sense.

“You got this?” Cassie inquires, hovering over the doorway of Charlie and Matt’s apartment.

“I’m good,” you reply, not wanting to draw any further attention to Karma.

“We’re here if you need us, OK?” Jordan adds, appearing beside Cassie.

Immediately, the boys add a general chorus of yeses, and Karma looks genuinely touched, on the brink of fresh tears.

“Thanks,” she replies, her voice small and tight. It has the telltale rawness of an argument.

“Always,” Jordan assures, looking at you for a long time before nodding to Cassie to close the door.

The music and the chatter don’t carry on like you thought it might.

When the door doesn't open again, the first thing Karma says is, “I’m sorry,” and then, in one huge breath, “I know you’re busy and your workload ...  is insane and you _really_ don’t need me here right now … I didn’t know what else to do.”

She has nothing to apologise for. You don’t like to think that you could be in a place where Karma feels uncomfortable or reluctant to come to you for help. You’re her best friend, you love her, and you know her better than you know yourself. No one else _can_ help her in the same way you can, and to know she’s effectively isolated herself from that source of comfort until now makes you sick to your stomach.

“Karm, don’t be stupid,” you say, brushing away new tears that have fallen. “I said I’d always be there for you no matter what and I meant it.”

“I know, I know,” she begins, as you turn toward the apartment, fishing out keys. “But so much has changed. We’ve changed,” and then, small and sad, “I pushed you away.”

“We agreed,” you remind her, guiding her carefully inside with a hand on her shoulder.

The fact that she says nothing in reply is telling. Now you’re reconsidering everything about that strange, stilted conversation in The Brew & Chew on Labour Day before your mom’s party. You’re reconsidering everything you ever said to that asshat Ethan, and the fact that you let yourself be swayed by Lauren and Shane’s warnings to stay out of the obvious drama going on in the relationship. You wish you’d trusted your gut instead of trusting Karma.

She follows behind you as you progress through the apartment, stepping around Cassie’s guitars and various textbooks like some weird obstacle course. Karma’s used to the mess, but you still feel oddly guilty about it, like you should tidy around and make it look nice, just to counter whatever _hell_ she’s escaped from. You’re not sure if you want to know what that hell looked like.

“If anyone should be saying sorry, it’s me,” you admit, handing her a towel as she shrugs off her backpack and jacket and starts to dry her hair. Without asking, you take her jacket, and go across to hang it in the bathroom to dry. Your mom would be proud.

“I think we both have things to be sorry about.”

Even though you can’t see her, you know she’s on the verge of tears again. You should answer with something else to comfort her, but you’ve got nothing, because she’s right. Instead of filling the silence with meaningless small talk, you busy yourself with finding her something to wear, turning your back respectfully while she fights her way out of the wet jeans and sweater she was wearing. Midway through the second drawer you realise you might not have anything that fits her anymore. When you look up at her, sitting on the edge of your bed in nothing but her underwear, hugging herself, towel folded neatly beside her, you don’t know how you manage to keep from crying. She looks so small, so fragile, and so _unlike_ the Karma you know.

You grab your bacon sweats and black hoody in the hope it’ll make her smile and take the serious edge off this very delicate situation. “My best couture, Madame,” you joke, and she smiles briefly, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

“I had to get out,” she announces, with this horrible cool, clear finality before breaking down again.

You rush over to her, tossing the clothes onto the bed, kneeling in front of her and pulling her into another tight hug. It’s only now you can _feel_ how different she is. How little there is of her now. Your mom made a similar, quiet comment while you helped her with the dessert at Thanksgiving. Karma pecked at her food like a bird, barely eating anything, while Ethan cleared every plate he was offered.

“And I’m glad you did,” you say, stroking her back. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me,” you continue, because it feels like she needs reminding.

“I know,” she replies, brokenly, still sobbing, face buried in your shoulder. “I just needed to see you and hear your voice,” she sits up slowly, gulps in air. “I needed you.”

At that, you break, bursting into tears. You cling to each other like that, sobbing, for what feels like an eternity. You’ve only seen her like that once before, back when her father had his heart attack. Right now, this feels a lot like that moment you shared in the hospital hallway, not knowing if he’d ever recover.

“I’m here, I’ll always be here,” you affirm, cradling her face in your hands. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

“I don’t think I can talk about it yet,” she says quietly, when you move to sit next to her on the bed.

“That’s OK. We can do whatever you want, but,” you pause, taking her hand in yours when you ask, “did he hurt you?” you close your eyes briefly, barely able to get the question out. “Did he hit you?”

“No.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and hug her again, rubbing her arm for warmth, kissing her temple. Screw your rules about not being affectionate. Ethan isn’t even _here,_ and she’s not his fucking property, like one of his shiny lacrosse trophies. She’s Karma, the most beautiful, loving, perfect girl you’ve ever know, and he’s broken her. She’s broken _and_ broken-hearted. Again. This time, you have no idea if you can put her back together.

Truthfully, you’ve feared this day would come for a long time, and when it did, you were terrified of the Karma who would greet you on the doorstep. To know she’s not been harmed, in that way at least, is some comfort. Ethan is already going to get a piece of your mind if he dares to call Karma, should that happen, you’d have no hesitation to call the cops. You don’t give a shit if his father is senator. All that matters to you is Karma’s hurting because of him, and you have _zero_ tolerance for people who cause her pain.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready.”

This time, the relief is hers.

“Thank you,” she replies quietly. “I don’t think I am,” is all she adds, pulling on the hoodie. “I love this, it’s so soft,” she smiles, just a little, and you realise how much you missed it.

“I should leave you to get dressed,” you offer, out of politeness more than anything. You stand up before she can even argue. “Would you like some tea, with honey maybe? I’m sure Cassie has some Oreos we can steal.”

“Just tea would be great, thanks.”

“Sure,” you nod, trying not to think about where the girl who used to bring around cake frosting and huge bags of candy for your sleepovers went to. “I’ll be right back. If you’re cold, you can get under the covers. We could watch a movie maybe, or just flip around and watch the dumbass infomercials and guess the prices.”

Hardly the most thrilling plan, and _disgustingly_ reminiscent of your pre-Shane high school experience, but maybe she needs that now. The look on her face seems to say so, nodding along happily, “I’d like that,” and then, said quieter still while your hand hovers over the door handle, “as long as I’m with you, it doesn’t matter.”

You don’t know how you manage to keep moving toward the kitchen, and you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to hold in your emotions and keep from crying. Karma needs you to be strong right now. You can cry later when you’re alone in the bathroom and she’s asleep so she can’t hear you. That assumes she gets to sleep at all. The first casualty of a breakup aside from her lack of appetite is anything approaching a normal sleep pattern. She’ll swing between insomnia and narcolepsy while she battles herself and a lot more tears for the next few days. Her roomie, Natalie, would take care of her if she’d managed to stay, you know it, but you also know you’re better at taking care of Karma than anyone else.

From the vague sounds filtering in across the hall, you know the so-called reading party is back on, but you don’t much mind. You have time to write the paper, Karma is more important right now. The first night is always the worst. Honestly, it’s kind of nice wandering around the kitchen fetching things and going through the routine of making the tea just how Karma (and you) have come to like it. The familiarity of waiting for the kettle to boil, of how long to leave the tea to steep, and how much honey is just right, is kind of comforting right now – a world away from reading, and papers, and crappy manipulative boyfriends, and a ton of _other_ confusing shit you don’t even want to think about.

By the time you get back to Karma, padding across your room precariously with two mugs, the TV is on some random shopping network, and she’s huddled under the covers, waiting.

“Should warm you up a little,” you say, offering her the mug, while you put your own on the nightstand to cool some.

“Thanks, you’re the best.”

She’s only taken one sip of tea, and she already seems a little brighter. “I try,” you shrug and she rolls her eyes at you. “Scoot over.”

You’re closer to her than you need to be, and the arm you quickly throw around her shoulders is equally unnecessary, but if she questions it – which she won’t – you’ll just say it’s for body warmth, which wouldn’t be a lie. When she holds your hand, hers is still a little cold. Out of reflex, you squeeze it, and she squeezes back, an ancient call and response from your nights at camp, staving off your fear of the dark. It was less scary with Karma there.

On the TV, a perky blonde woman with a terrible orange tan and painfully white teeth is trying to extol the virtues of a piece of exercise equipment that wouldn’t look out of place in a torture chamber, and yet, you’re both glued to the presentation, not bothering to look at each other when you speak.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“I thought it would really work out this time,” she says, looking down at her mug now, draining the last of it. You take it from her automatically when she passes it, but don’t pick up your own.

“I thought so too.”

That’s a lie. You _hated_ that selfish prick on sight, and she knows it, but now’s not the time for truths. Now’s the time to salve a still gaping wound.

“I just wanted ... “ she sighs. “I don’t know what I wanted, but it wasn’t what I got.”

At that, you can’t help but look at her. She’s on the brink of tears again, eyes brimming with them, threatening to fall. There’s that pain, again. Short, sharp, and familiar. When she hurts, you hurt.

“I never fall in love with the right people.”

She breaks down then, curling into you, clinging on, and you hold her that little bit tighter. Her words hurt, striking you hard, in some darkened, forgotten corner of your mind. This time, you don’t say anything. This time, you let her cry; you endure every shudder and shake of it with her, just like she did for you after Reagan and Sabrina. You stay that way for a long time, holding her, soothing her, watching the infomercials blur before your eyes as your own tears start to fall. When she falls asleep, exhausted, sometime later, you’re still wide-awake, watching another infomercial, keeping watch over her.

You really wish she’d find that elusive right person. She deserves more than Liam Booker, and Ethan Levine, and every other asshole that’s even slightly bruised her heart in between. She deserves more than crying herself to sleep, heartbroken. She deserves to be loved without condition.

She deserves so much more than the world gives her.


	2. Five Easy Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night of beer and pizza with Amy and her roommates offers Karma an escape. Though she appears to be getting over Ethan, Amy’s still concerned about how well Karma’s really coping.
> 
> _“Your Karma’s still there.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For general story notes see [chapter one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7449124/chapters/16925410). Thank you for all the wonderful feedback on this story so far; I hope you continue to enjoy it.

Your whole day has consisted of worrying about Karma.

She’s a strong person - stronger than she thinks - you know that, but she’s been through a _lot_ of shit in her life. Sometimes you wonder if one day it’ll just be too much and something really small will tip her over the edge. It’s always the little things that get people, and all this _crap_ with Ethan is just the latest in a long line of other crappy things she’s had to endure. You wanted to stay home from class and hang out to get her through the worst of the breakup like you have so many times before. But this time, she wouldn’t let you, because then you would’ve missed your favourite class with Dr Bradford.

Even though Karma’s visit is so much more than a visit, she’s said this whole mess can’t derail your life too. You can’t imagine the fifteen-year-old version of her being so self-aware, or so selfless. Lauren still thinks Karma’s got some evil master plan to keep you tied to her for eternity, but it’s not like that. In one of the worst moments of her life, she came to you for help. She didn’t turn tail and run back to Austin, to Felix, Liam, Dylan, or any other of her less _douchey_ exes, she came to you. With no idea of what to do, she came to her best friend, the person she loves most in the world. She chose you above everyone else, in spite of the distance that had grown between you, and that matters.

You’re making her sound like some weeping basket case, but that’s not true. Sure, she cried a lot last night, but she’s fighting her way out of this, bouncing back quicker than normal. You’re not sure what to make of that. Mostly because you know she has phases of coping. There’s the initial sadness, then she forces herself to be all bright and breezy, and _then_ , she crashes and burns spectacularly. It all catches up with her, and she can sleep for double-digit hours. The bright and breezy phase has taken up most of the day. She woke up first and made you all coffee and French toast. She encouraged you to go to class. She cleaned the apartment from top to bottom.

All day, she’s replied to your multitude of check-in texts with cute emojis and a picture message of her and Tyler cocooned on the couch in front of the TV in the throes of a Netflix binge. He’s been there to keep her company and unofficially take care of her while you and Jordan went to class, but you’re not sure how it worked out. You’re not sure if he’s just perpetuating the bright and breezy phase and delaying the inevitable, because no one else but you can deal with the girl Karma becomes then.

They thought they’d seen the worst of it yesterday, but that’s not the worst. It’s not even close.

You wish you could be less guarded about it all, but experience tells you otherwise. Technically, this is a celebration. There _are_ things to be celebrated, because Tyler is close to getting his first commissioned painting, and Karma’s here, _outside_ , wearing her hair curled and a pretty dress for the occasion. She looks something like the girl you remember. Honestly, you’re glad you managed to coax her to come to save you from third wheeling. At least if you’re _with_ her you can stop worrying about her so much. She’s here with you and with your two closest friends at your favourite bar, Triona’s. Here, there’s none of that horrible Greek system bullshit you have to deal with on campus. You like the people, the vibe and the food is good. It has good memories for you and Karma too. It’s one of the first places you brought her to when she visited for the very first time. Tyler’s old enough to buy liquor without a fake ID, and sometimes you just _need_ to get out of the academic bubble, and you’re thankful that he’s here to help with that because he’s lived here all his life.

You owe him for how he’s been with Karma. He’s helped her more than he’ll ever know, Jordan too. Without her there, pushing you through the day, distracting you with questions about reading, and saying some pretty amazing things in seminars for you to contribute to, you don’t know how you would’ve made it.

Even so, that tick-tocking dread has returned, because she still clams up whenever you or anyone else asks about Ethan. Every time you’ve texted Natalie or called her, it’s been variations on the same theme: that she can’t tell you everything because it’s Karma’s story to tell. She’s right of course, and you hate going around her like this, but you just want to be prepared when the other shoe drops. You want to be wrong so much, because Karma looks something like content and happy, helping Tyler back to your booth with a pitcher of beer at the exact moment the biggest cheese pizza you’ve ever seen gets set down on the table.

“Go big or go home, ladies!” Tyler declares, grinning as he slides into his seat next to Jordan, dropping plastic cups into the scant space that remains on the table.

Karma slips in next to you, close, her hand brushing yours when she smoothes her dress down. “Go big it is!” she replies, passing around the cups as Tyler fills them.

“Do you want me to make a very obvious joke there, Ty? Can your fragile masculinity handle it?” you quip, automatically. Jordan winks at you in solidarity.

“Cute, Raudenfeld. Cute!” he reaches across the table to toast his cup with your own, the sound dulled by the plastic.

“To Tyler,” Jordan offers, bursting with pride.

“To the art world for finally seeing how good you are,” you chip in, and he beams.

“You’re too much, ladies. Too much!”

“OK, we need to stop now, if his head gets any bigger, we’ll need the fire department to extricate him from the building!” Jordan exclaims.

Until you’re laughing with them, with Karma, you didn’t realise how much you needed to. Then, there’s more toasting with some of the beer spilling over when your hands touch. For a second, you can almost forget everything that’s going on because you’re sitting in a packed bar, drinking beer, making ridiculous declarations like you’re in a Cameron Crowe movie. It feels right. It feels good. It feels ordinary. In the middle of it all, there’s a brief moment of tenderness between Jordan and Tyler when she touches his hand on the table. They’re not naturally lovey-dovey and loathe public displays of affection, but it feels important they let you see it. Beside you, Karma clears her throat awkwardly, distracting herself with the beer, picking a little at the pizza slice in front of her. You’re already on your second slice, ravenously hungry after a day of picking at things like a bird.

“Are you OK?” you whisper, glad for the cloak of Jordan and Tyler’s conversation to hide within.

“Amy, I’m fine. You don’t have to keep asking me. Can we just be here?” she replies, irritated. “I just want to hang out with you and our friends, OK?”

“Karm,” you begin, apologetic. “I was just … things are hard for you right now.”

“I’m fine, really,” she looks at you for a long time, but the longer she stares, the less you believe her.

She’s eyeing the pizza slice hungrily, still yet to eat any, and rage flashes over you out of nowhere all over again. Ethan’s not _here,_ but he’s here. You can almost see the ghost of him, flanking her on the other side, scrutinising every word, every sip of beer, and every bite of pizza. She still feels the weight of that scrutiny, you know it, from the way the colour has started to drain from her face.

“You can eat some, Karma,” you whisper, trying not to draw too much attention to what she’s (not) doing.

She nods, softness returning to her eyes, their former steeliness gone. Slowly, she picks up the slice. It’s a relief when she takes something approaching a normal bite. You can’t remember the last time you saw her actually eat like this. When she turns back to look at you, a long string of cheese extending out from the pizza to her mouth, she looks pleased, she looks proud.

“Thank you,” she says softly, between one mouthful and the next.

Your Karma’s still there. That too, is a relief. You thought she’d disappeared.

She takes another bite, a bigger one. It’s a small victory, but also you know it signals that the matter’s closed. Again. She’s not going to give any of this up easily.

“You’re so sweet for letting me tag along like this,” she continues, louder, to include Jordan and Tyler in the conversation. “You too, Amy. You’re the best.”

There’s genuine warmth in her eyes when she says it. You’d forgotten what that looks like too. She pulls you into a one-armed hug that lingers far too long, but you’re not about to fight it.

“Of course you’d be here, Karm!” Jordan says, smiling at her.

“Totally our favourite high school bff!” Tyler chimes in, and Karma waves dismissively. She’s blushing a little. It’s cute.

You’re feeling incredibly lucky right now that he didn’t say ‘girlfriend,’ like you’ve introduced them to so many (you haven’t). There have been girls, you’re not hiding yourself away in the library, but no one’s really stuck. They’re just girls for the moment not forever. To dance with, or drink with, (Lyla, Megan, and Jo), to talk about obscure movies over coffee with (Brie and Elizabeth), to make out with and hook up sometimes, without any kind of emotional _bullshit_ attached. (Kara, Maddie, and Lacey). None of those girls could be classed as a girlfriend in the romantic or platonic sense.

Tyler starts to talk about this guy he knew in high school, Tommy Carver, who walked around like a carbon copy of John Bender from _The Breakfast Club_ , their very own anti-establishment rebel and Tyler’s hero. You and Jordan roll your eyes at each other, because you’ve heard this _million_ times now – he embellishes the story, so you’re not sure what’s true anymore - but Karma hasn’t heard any version, so you get to delight in her hearing for the first time about how the kid took over the school PA system on senior prank day. It’s kind of adorable how taken in she is. In one hand, she has a beer, and in the other, is a fresh pizza slice that pauses on the way to her mouth when he tells her about the kegger party that ended with Tommy attacking their very own version of Regina George with silly string. He got ratted out to the school administration and wasn’t allowed to walk at graduation, so Tyler wore a ‘Free Tommy Carver’ shirt for the whole last week of school. The peak of it came at graduation, when Tyler flashed the shirt right at the moment they handed over his diploma and the photographs get taken. He still has the edition of the school newspaper with it on the front page, immortalised forever. Story finished, he stands unzips his hoodie shows Karma the very same t-shirt underneath, taking a huge theatrical bow. Admittedly, it’s still kind of funny, and you find yourself smiling with Jordan when he gets to the end along, but Karma laughs, she _really_ laughs, her whole face lighting up. It’s infectious. Everyone’s laughing with her again.

God, you’ve missed it.

For a second, you forget. You forget everything that’s happened, and everything that’s gone wrong, and just revel in it with her.

God, she’s so beautiful. You shouldn’t think that anymore, but you do.

She starts to choke a little on her beer and you reach over to rub her back. When she turns to you, she’s still smiling, still deliriously happy over Tyler’s dumbass story, and you think she might be OK this time. She might not crash and burn. You might be able to count on Jordan and Tyler and the others to help you pick up all the pieces if she does.

You’re just about to ask her if she’s recovered from her quasi-coughing fit when your text tone goes off a couple of times in succession. Out of habit, you wait before looking, convinced it’ll be a string of texts from Matt with a YouTube link of cats playing piano or cats that look like Hitler, because he gets a weird kick out of sending you moronic shit to make you smile. It never fails. Lately, he’s been sending extra cats and other weird memes to make Karma smile too. They weren’t as successful though. For the moment, you tune back into Jordan relaying this week’s edition of ‘Pretentious Douchebags in Seminars’ to Tyler and Karma. Said douchebag is a guy called Kyle Keller, and you’re fucking sick to death of his ridiculous mansplaining to you, Jordan, and every other girl in Bradford’s class.

Karma looks suitably appalled.

While Jordan’s shares how Dr Bradford finally lost her patience with him and made him leave - accompanied by a fitting display of male posturing and ‘do you know who my father is’ talk - you finally sneak a look down at your phone. It’s not Matt. It’s Maddie.

 

**Maddie (10:30 PM):**  
I ran into Charlie today,  
he said your friend was visiting.

**Maddie (10:31 PM):**  
Guess that means you won’t  
Be coming to Jen’s party?  
That’s kind of a shame.  
I had fun with you last time.  
Maybe we could have more  
fun when your friend is gone?

**Maddie (10:33 PM):**  
If she wants to hang out,  
bring her along too. The  
more the merrier, right? xx

 

First: _fuck_.  
Second: did you just get propositioned for a threesome, again?  
Third: you’re going to _kill_ Charlie.  
Fourth: why do people have this _fucking excessive_ need to self-disclose and completely ignore your right to privacy?  
Fifth: why do people think you being in the vague vicinity of Maddie Gordon means you have some huge crush on her and you’re too afraid to do anything about it?

For the record, you’re so _not_. Maddie’s cute and fun, and you like hanging out with her whenever you have, but you want keep time with her and your friends separate. As soon as you start letting those things intersect, the lines get blurry, shit gets confusing, and then _everyone_ is fucked. Literally, metaphorically, and other ‘allys’ you’re not nearly sober enough to think of.

You text back quickly because you don’t want to be _that_ girl either.

 

**Amy (10:41 PM):  
** Maybe :)

 

But, you _are_ that girl. You’re not in a space to be anything approaching committal, but that requires giving Maddie more details about you and Karma than you’re really comfortable with. You get risky text dread as soon as you send it, seeing the ellipsis dots appear and disappear twice before anything comes back.

 

**Maddie (10:44 PM):**  
Very interesting. You’re into this  
mysterious stuff, aren’t you?

**Maddie (10:45 PM):**  
OK Mystery Girl, you know  
where I am if you wanna  
pick up where we left off.

**Amy (10:45 PM):**  
I do know where you are.  
Just have to see what happens.  
I’ll call you.

 

That sounds a lot more flirtatious than you meant it to, and you feel a twinge of guilt at sort of leading her on, but you’re not sure how else to reply right now. It briefly crosses your mind that you wish Charlie had said Karma was your girlfriend. It’d be the right kind of complication. Something easier to explain than the truth.

“Who are you texting?” Karma asks suddenly, interest piqued.

“Oh, no one,” you reply, hastily pocketing your phone. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Hey, if there’s somewhere you need to be, don’t let us stop ya!” Tyler encourages, smirking. “So many girls, so little time.”

You glare, somehow stopping yourself from flipping him off.

“Ty,” Jordan says, warningly, with a glare of her own.

“Relax,” he holds up his hands in defence, “I was kidding, she knows that.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, eyeing him over the top of your beer, draining it quickly.

He looks wounded, and you know Jordan just kicked him under the table.

You could go off at him for being a dick in front of Karma, but for her sake, you leave it be. She’s not stupid, she knows you’ve hooked up with people - with girls - but she doesn’t need to be filled in on the details right now.

“I totally ruined your plans, didn’t I?” Karma’s deadly serious again.

“No, no, not at all!”

“Really? I mean I totally did just drop in out of nowhere,” she pauses, resting her hand on your forearm. “I’m sorry.”

Jordan says, “See what you did? Idiot!” at the same time you say, “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I promise. You’re more important to me right now,” and the overlapping makes everyone laugh again, resolving the sudden tension in the air.

“Do you wanna share?” Karma asks, holding up a huge slice of pizza. “Can’t break our tradition, it’s the last slice.”

When she’s looking you like that, all happy and smiley, you can’t really refuse. It’s tradition, after all. She’s tearing it before you’ve really begun nodding. There’s so much you _don’t_ have to do and say when it comes to her. You’ve gotten too used to filling in gaps because people who _aren’t_ her need you to do and say so much more.

Tyler goes to refill the pitcher of beer, so it’s just you, Karma, and Jordan at the table, but it’s nice. You’re content to sit back and listen to the two of them nerd out about the new Tegan and Sara album, and how much they want to see the tour. It’s been so long since you’ve seen her like this - passionate, animated, and expressive - it’s a shock. You thought this side of Karma had been lost; dulled by whatever Ethan did to control and contain her because his family’s so obsessed with being seen as ‘doing good’ and ‘being right.’ All along, you thought he was trying to shape her into some cookie cutter mould she’s never really fit, despite how _very_ hard she tried to force herself into it. It’s been a little over twenty-four hours, but you can tell things are changing for her. Outside of Connecticut, with her phone off, and avoiding checking email, she’s gotten respite from Ethan on all sides. The wings that have been clipped for so long are starting to spread. She’ll soar soon. Her body language is completely different now. The tension in her body is gone, she doesn’t look nearly as tired or as stressed as she did yesterday. She’s starting to relax. She feels safe here, and you’re thankful.

“Amy, you have a little something,” Karma says softly, tapping at her chin.

“Oh,” you reply, fumbling for your napkin and dabbing at your face.

“Here, let me get it.”

She smiles that sweet, sunny smile you’ve missed so much, taking the napkin from you. Her fingertips brush yours, and you feel _something_. The faintest jolt. She’s close now, much closer than she was before, dabbing at your chin.

“Can’t take her anywhere!” you hear Jordan say, with a laugh. Her voice sounds far away, like she’s in a tunnel, or under the sea, far away from you.

All you can see is Karma, all you can feel is Karma. You’re close enough to smell her perfume, to see her black wing tipped eyeliner, and her eyes, searching you and studying you. They’re the most beautiful shade of green you’ve ever seen. _Oh._ That feeling is there again. You let out a long, shuddering breath. Those millions of butterflies swarming in your stomach you thought had gone for good the moment you threw your graduation caps in the air are back.

She smiles again, showing you the napkin. “All gone.”

“Thanks,” you reply, flustered, burning with embarrassment.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, light and easy, like nothing happened at all.

Something _did_ happen, and the feelings were never gone. Not really. They changed, they shifted shape, but they never dulled. You know that now. You know it in this crowded bar, sitting next to her, hearing nothing but the unsteady beat of your heart drowning out the music from the band in the corner. You know it from the way your hand shakes around the newly filled cup of beer when Tyler offers it. You know it from the way Jordan looks at you curiously from over the brim of her own.

You’re in love with Karma. Again.


	3. One from the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy plans a surprise to cheer up Karma. Struggling to keep her feelings in check, she discovers the history between them is much harder to ignore than either of them thought.
> 
> _“This love, this thing, is a problem once more.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For general story notes see [chapter one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7449124/chapters/16925410). Your response to this fic has been wonderful! Sorry for the delay in posting, life got in the way of everything this week. Hopefully, this chapter makes up for it. The music Karma plays in this chapter is actually [‘'Opus 28’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dF476INVEmM) by Dustin O’Halloran. Feel free to listen along, because it’s a huge influence on this chapter, and the story as a whole.

Last night, you barely slept.

Now you’re paying the price, walking around campus like a zombie, shuffling from class to class. You wish you could say it was for some stereotypical reason, like one of Charlie and Matt’s infamous parties, or that you stayed up working on your Frederick Wiseman paper for Dr Sloane. It’s nothing like that. You were awake all night because you were suddenly _very_ aware of Karma lying in the bed next to you in a way you haven’t been for the longest time. You were aware of every tiny movement, every breath, every time she’d toss and turn or nuzzle into you for comfort. All you could do was stare at the ceiling and wait. Wait and wonder about what all of this meant, stuck on that moment in the bar – it was a _definite_ moment. If you could step out of frame and rewind everything, you would. At least then you’d see things more objectively. The morning came too soon, and when it did, you were _very_ aware of how unlike friends you looked when Jordan came in to wake you up for class. You were late, because you’d slept right through your alarm, barely making it to Dr Hall’s screening, forced to sit at the back with all the other latecomers, Jordan on your left, Karma on your right.

You were meant to take notes while you watched, following the pointers Dr Hall laid out in his introduction, but you couldn’t think about the film, it’s aesthetic, or how it’s thematically similar or dissimilar from the rest of Francis Ford Coppola's body of work. All you could think about was Karma. All you could do was watch Karma watch the film; fascinated by the way the gaudy neon pinks and blues on the screen played across her face. You won’t have anything remotely useful or insightful to contribute to the seminar later on, but you can tell Dr Hall, and his TA, Stefan, everything about the way Karma reacted to watching it, right down to the moment when a lone tear streaked down her face during a pivotal scene. She was so engrossed, so overcome, that it didn't matter she was in public, or, surrounded - save for you and Jordan - by strangers. You could write a thesis, you think, about plays of light, emotion, and affect, and that’s the problem.

This love, this _thing_ is a problem once more.

It hadn’t really _been_ a problem for some time, what with Felix and Sabrina and the whole experience of the latter half of high school. You and Karma were friends. Good friends, close friends, approaching what you’d had before the whole faking it debacle, and thinking about Karma like _that_ wasn’t something you needed to concern yourself with. You’d compliment her when her hair looked good, when she wore a pretty dress, or wanted your opinion on another dress she held up against herself on shopping trips. It didn’t even matter when you went to prom with each other. Karma and Felix had fizzled out well before the end of junior year, and were now back to being friends again. You and Sabrina meanwhile, had lasted longer than anyone ever guessed, right up until her dad got another job offer he couldn’t refuse. You were meant to be trying long distance, and for a while, you did, it worked well enough, until enough wasn’t, well, _enough_. It hurt more than you expected. Besides, everyone went as a group anyway, the only real couples there were Shane and Noah, and Lauren and Liam, still yet to leave the nauseating honeymoon phase of their relationship even though it was almost two years old. When you stood with her, hand in hand, wearing matching corsages, watching Liam and Lauren up on stage, Hester’s newly-crowned King and Queen, it felt like you were exactly where you should be.

There’s no one else you would’ve rather shared that with. No hope, no agenda. You just wanted to be there with your best friend. So what if you told her she was the most beautiful girl in the room and it made her light up like July 4th? So what. It was true anyway. Objectively, Karma is a pretty girl. Even Jordan and Cassie have said so. Your knowing she’s pretty has nothing to do with the horrendous crushing feeling that’s reinstalled itself in your chest overnight. None. At. All.

Mostly, that feeling has a great deal to do with the fact Jordan accosted you on the way back to your room last night, glass of water for Karma in hand, ready for a late night date with Bogart and Bacall, when Jordan flat out asked you if something was ‘going on’ between you and Karma. ‘Going on,’ she said, like you were still in grade school. You thought she was smarter than that. When you flat out denied it, she snorted, teetering on the edge of laughter, like she knew a huge secret you didn’t. The more you said the word ‘no,’ the angrier and less convincing you sounded. This morning, while Karma finished getting dressed, Jordan’s line of questioning got distinctly _less_ grade school, and she bluntly asked you if you and Karma were sleeping together. That got an even louder ‘no’ in response. She still wore that same amused expression, like she thought you were reading from a script.

First: Karma and Ethan have _barely_ broken up. You’re not about to be the rebound girl.

Second: you’re not in the habit of sleeping with your friends.

Third: you’ve never, _ever_ , slept with Karma. Even when you were faking, you barely made it past second base, despite Karma’s encouragement and commitment to the ruse. An aborted threesome, and the fact you’ve given it serious thought over the years, does _not_ count.

Fourth: She’s your best friend, she’s going through a bad time, she deserves to be comforted not pushed away. You’re not about to make her feel bad for wanting - no needing - to be close to you.

Fifth: It’s none of Jordan’s fucking business, and if she wants to start with questions, you’ve got several. Like, ‘why in the hell isn’t Tyler paying any _fucking_ rent?’

Thankfully, you were smart enough _not_ to say that out loud, despite feeling incredibly cornered. Things aren’t frosty between you and Jordan exactly, they’re just _awkward,_ even though she apologised. Twice.

Maybe you are full of shit, because really, it’s easier to describe the brief periods when you _didn’t_ have feelings for Karma: middle school, the immediate minute after you confessed undying love after your mom and Bruce’s wedding, the first week or so of your summer road trip with the girls from Pussy Explosion, the brief period she was with Dylan upon your return. Through it all, Karma was the yardstick anyone you’ve been interested in had to measure up to.

The moment Jordan’s questions started, the reality of all that measuring came back and hit you hard.

You’re back in that weird limbo space with her, when intimacy feels strange because people keep picking up on stuff. So what if you woke up today with Karma’s arms around you? So what if you were also holding hands with her. New York is cold in the Fall, the apartment is like a _fucking_ icebox at the best of times. You and Karma have slept that way for _years_ , your mom’s walked in on you like Jordan did thousands of times. She didn’t raise so much as an eyebrow, and if anyone was well within their rights to start with the inquisition, it’s your mother.

Except, in light of the (not so) sudden reawakening of your feelings for Karma, you’re questioning things too.

If Karma’s sensed something’s different, she hasn’t said. Yet. But, the whole thing has put you on edge. The screening wasn’t fun, it was weird. The lunch break was weirder still, even though Karma and Jordan chatted away, swapping favourite moments from the film over coffee and elaborate salads. You smiled and nodded along, agreeing in all the right places, picked at your food, and panicked every time your phone went off. This time, you weren’t worried about Maddie, or Matt and his menagerie of cat memes, you were waiting on a text from Cassie, telling you that your little plan to cheer up Karma with some playing time in one of Music Department’s practice room is a go. It’s lead to you loitering near the department all day, sharing knowing looks with Jordan, all while hoping that Karma’s not suspicious or bored.

It’s a different vibe here, she says, to the time she has with Natalie and Skylar in her classes at Fairfield, quick to correct Charlie whenever he suggests it might be a little like _High School Musical_. Truthfully, it’s not like that at all. Karma’s serious about her music, like Cassie. Just like Charlie is about his literature, and you are about film. Natalie and Skylar are Karma’s people, they’ve helped her when you couldn’t, spying, but not, on your behalf.

And then, it happens, the tone Cassie set on your phone goes off, and you jump out of your skin.

 **Cassie (1:17 PM):**  
Rad, get your ass down here!  
Freebie says it’s a go!

 

Freebie is Cassie’s nickname for Dr Freeman, head of the music department. Dr Freeman is notoriously opposed to these kinds of things for non-students, so you text back the first thing that comes into your head.

 

 **Amy (1:17 PM):  
** Who did you kill?

 **Cassie (1:18 PM):**  
Haha. Funny. No one.

 **Cassie (1:18 PM):**  
I called in a favour or three.  
Lucky Nick likes Karma so much.  
He gave up his practice time for her.  
Pretty sweet.  
  
**Amy (1:19 PM):**  
Cass, you’re the best for this.  
Thank Nick for me?

 **Cassie (1:21PM):**  
For sure **.** Nick can live off  
watching her play. Buy me  
drinks when we go out this week.  
Call it evens. Karma deserves this.  
That Ethan dude is an ass!

 

That’s the understatement of the century. Sometimes, you wish that the two times Karma met Cassie’s classmate, Nick Campos, were enough for her to fall in love. Nick’s sweet, has a hipster, young DeNiro vibe, but he’s kind of dorky, and loves his music as much as her. OK, so he has questionable taste in hats and is borderline obsessed with playing bongo drums, but you know he would’ve been a better boyfriend to her than Ethan ever was. She and Nick had an impromptu jam session with Cassie's guitar on what would be the last time she stayed over. You’ve never seen her look so happy. A few days later, she called you, excited, from a party at Skylar’s house, where she’d met ‘the cutest guy ever.’ It was Ethan. He was cute, beautiful even - and that’s not something you say readily about guys - but his behaviour got real ugly, real quick. The rest is history. Tragic history.

 You’re right by the Music Department, a myriad of sounds pour out, competing with each other.

“I have a surprise for you,” you whisper, conspiratorially, linking arms with Karma again when you catch up with her, Over Karma’s head, you wink at Jordan. It’s on. She brightens, the previous awkwardness forgotten.

“You do?” Karma asks, distractedly.

You look down at her phone, Ethan’s considerably more ugly face fills the screen, he’s calling her, for the seventeenth time today.

“I do, and it’s way better than _that_.”

Jordan makes a derisive snort. “Block him.”

“I don’t … I can’t … I shouldn’t,” she stutters.

That white hot rage you so often feel about him - or anyone else that dares to hurt Karma - is back.

“You can, he’s an asshole,” you snap, and she stiffens. “Please do it, Karma,” you try, softer.

“It’s always better,” Jordan offers, backing you up, as she swings around to open the main entrance door. “Trust me.”

You kind of love her right now.

“I don’t know,” Karma starts again, staring at his face when it appears. “I’m scared.”

She doesn’t admit that a lot. Much less aloud.

You shield her instinctively from the passing clusters of students, stopping by the trophy case, leaning against it.

“Don’t be,” you remind her, covering her hands with your own, partially obscuring the phone screen. “You have me,” and then, _very_ aware Jordan is just behind you, add, “you have us”, letting her hands go, self-conscious.

“OK,” Karma nods, knowing you’re right. “Clean break.”

“Clean break,” you and Jordan say, roughly at the same time.

You haven’t spoken a word to him in weeks, managing to get through Thanksgiving with the barest of social interactions. You hate him, he hates you. It’s always been that way from the moment you met him for the first time at Karma and Natalie’s apartment, and got a considerably frosty reception. Nothing he’s done since then has endeared you or changed your mind. For once, you really wanted to be proven wrong. You wanted it to work. No one will believe you if you say so out loud, but it’s the truth.

Even so, seeing his number in Karma’s blocked list - the only number there, in fact - is strangely satisfying.

“He’s gone,” Karma says, with a strange mix of sadness and joy, tears filling her eyes.

“He so is,” you smile a little, taking her hands and squeezing them.

“Good riddance, fucker!” Jordan declares, speaking for you and just about everyone else on the planet.

Karma’s going to be fine now. You’re doing this the right way. Back in Connecticut, it’s all happening too. You know from Natalie’s lengthy phone call last night that all of Karma’s stuff is back in their apartment.

“You’re gonna be OK,” you tell her, pulling her into a one-armed hug. “You are.”

You hear Jordan say a soft “Amy,” and you pull away, following her eyeline. Before you can say anything else about the surprise, Cassie and Charlie appear, rushing out of the practice room to greet you, seemingly oblivious to what they’re walking into.

“Come on, Ashcroft, show me what you got!”

“What?”

“We got you some time on the Steinway, girl!” Charlie chimes in.

Karma gapes a little, immediately looking in your direction, “You what?”

“I had a little help from these guys,” you reply, with a shrug. Karma just gives you _that_ look. The one that says … well, you’re not exactly sure what it says. Maybe it’s what your nana means when she’s caught you looking at Karma and says stuff about her having hung the moon. “I thought you might like to play on something better than my little USB keyboard.”

“I would,” she replies, in this soft, sweet way. “I really would.”

“I thought so,” you say, trying not to look as pleased as you feel. When you look over at Jordan, she’s smiling.

Cassie wondered if it might be too much, if she wouldn’t like the attention, but you’ve seen her at breakfast, and during your movie nights, fingers tapping tables and the arms of chairs, marking out scales and quintuplets of melodies only she can hear. It means she needs to play. Not wants to, _needs_ to.

You let her go ahead with the others, watching as they form a protective cocoon around her, and hang back in the doorway, waving to Nick and mouthing a ‘thank you’ for giving up his practice time, quietly amused when he dusts off the piano. You know from Cassie they have an important recital coming up, so missing time now is really about more than missing time, and you’re touched by it, wondering what Cassie said to him and Dr Freeman to get them to agree. For a while, you’re content to watch Karma and Cassie play, chopsticks at first, but then more complex arrangements and piano duets you’ve only heard snatches of before, other students gathered around to listen. On the other side of the room is Dr Freeman, listening and chewing his pen thoughtfully.

It’d be entirely possible you could spend years of your life like this, and not feel like it was time wasted. Karma’s coming back. _Your_ Karma is coming back.

Before you realise it, Dr Freeman, the other students, Jordan, Charlie, and Cassie have gone, and it’s just you and Karma. You don’t remember saying goodbye to them, but vaguely recall the touches on your arm and their whispers of ‘see you later’ and ‘I’ll call you after class,’ and ‘I’ll meet you in the library.’

“Could I play something I’ve been working on?” Karma asks, turning on the bench to look at you finally, expectantly. It feels important.

“Of course,” you nod, half shouting across the space.

“Could you close the door?”

You nod again, and do as she asks.

She’s never talked about her music like this before. It’s always been songs, snips of lyrics or melodies, never something she’s composed. You walk across the practice room, arms folded, cautious and excited. She slides across the bench a little, so you both have room to sit comfortably. She shakes out her hair from the confines of its ponytail, and slips off her shoes, so her bare feet rest near the pedals.

After a moment to gather herself, she exhales a long breath. And then, she starts to play. She starts to play, and you find yourself gripping the bench in anticipation, utterly fascinated. She has her eyes closed, lost completely, her fingers sliding deftly across the keys, playing from memory. You realise you’ve heard parts of this before, bits and pieces, when she commandeered the piano in your living room. Whenever you asked about it, she’d shrug and say she was ‘just playing’ and switch out for the Cole Porter your mom loves, or other standards your nana likes to dance to.

You’ve always thought she was an incredible musician, much better than she believed, but this is different to every other time you’ve heard her play. It’s like she’s talking to you, except it isn’t in words, it’s in notes. It’s beautiful. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. It’s _sublime_ , so much more than a pretty little melody. The longer the piece goes, the more comfortable and confident she becomes. You can hear happiness and sadness, and light and shade. It makes you think of summer, that last blissful summer in Austin. Of living through the heat wave, and the crappy receptionist job you took at an upscale dentist office while Karma did lifeguarding for the third year running. Of pushing through to get to the end of the day to share ice cream with her while the sun went down on the roof of your house. Of endless nights talking with the glow stars as your audience as you planned futures as big as the cosmos it represented.

It makes you think of her.

By the time she finishes, a single long held note trailing off into silence, you’re crying. They’re happy tears, but you’re still crying.

“It’s for you,” she says after what feels like an eternity, in the smallest voice you’ve ever heard. “I wrote it for you.”

You can only just hear her over the speeding of your heart in your chest.

“Oh, Karma,” you turn a little more on the bench, and edge closer to her, swatting at your face. “It’s amazing. It’s beautiful.”

“You like it?” she’s smiling slightly, cautiously optimistic as she reaches up to brush away a freshly shed tear. You let out that same shuddering breath as when she touched you in the bar. She has the same look on her face too; the same sweet wondrousness.

“You have no idea how special you are, do you? I _love_ it.”

Words seem so superfluous. None of them sound right. In the scant space between you on the bench, you place your hand over hers.

“Who’s Maddie?” she asks, looking down at them.

It’s not the question you were expecting. _At all_. For a second, you’re thrown, unsure how to answer or even if you can. Things are always complicated when it comes to girls, but when you refuse to define things with those girls? It’s even worse. You have no idea how she knows about Maddie, but it’s a strange relief anyway.

“Just a girl,” is all you shakily offer, eyes trained on the top of her head. There’s a trace of guilt in your voice and you don’t know why.

She lifts her head. “What am I?”

The way she says it makes it sound like ‘what are we?’ and you’re not thrown at all.

All night and all day, you’ve been stuck on questions, tying yourself up in knots when you already knew the answer. It’s pointless to fight this. It always has been.

“You’re Karma,” you say, watching the beginnings of a smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

It’s answer enough.


	4. A Woman Under the Influence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a girls’ night out, Amy realises things between her and Karma becoming complicated. Now more than ever, she has no idea how to negotiate the very blurred lines of their relationship or if they can ever redefine them.
> 
> _“Even in this crowded club, she’s the focus of your attention.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For general story notes see [chapter one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7449124/chapters/16925410). The feedback on this story has been wonderful so far! I’m really glad you’re enjoying it. In many ways, this chapter marks the turning point of the story. Here’s hoping you think that’s a turn in the right direction.  
> 

Thursdays have always been girls’ night at Red, your second favourite place in New York.

It’s the only night of the week you jettison the boys - so it’s just you, Jordan, and Cassie most weeks, except when Karma, Lauren, or Cassie’s sister Erin come to visit. Of course, you’re still worried about Karma, and you’re still turning everything over that’s happened so far this week - a lot, and a lot of it is to do with Karma - and all she wanted to do is go out and have a good time, thereby keeping up your tradition. Given what a control freak Ethan could be, you weren’t about to be the person that denied her.

If you’re honest, you haven’t really been functioning normally since Karma showed up. It’s not Karma’s presence that’s thrown you for a loop, but more what she’s slowly been revealing to you in fits and starts in the dead of night. You knew things with Ethan weren’t great, and obviously they’d gotten a lot worse in your absence, but last night’s revelations? You weren’t ready for that at all. Even though she broke it gently, it still came as a shock, and you’re still insanely, incandescently angry about it, but she made you promise you wouldn’t seek him out and take revenge.

Of all the promises you’ve made to her over the years, this one is definitely the hardest to keep.

You were awake again, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what happened in the practice room, wondering if you should finally talk to Karma about it - because, you’re 20 now, and you’re supposed to be able to have adult conversations about difficult shit instead of talking around them. But you didn’t get to talk to her about it, because she came out with something that made everything else seem trivial. Before Karma left, she and Ethan had an argument while packing for a trip to see his parents in Rhode Island, over her contact with you and the texts he’d seen on her phone. He wanted Karma to cut you out of her life. When she refused, things got heated, and the argument didn’t end with makeup sex like all the others. It ended with him punching a hole in their apartment wall, narrowly missing her head. It was the wake-up call she needed. She ignored his yelling and screaming, his tears and pleas to stay, took the bag for Rhode Island and left. The next thing she said will stay with you for the rest of your life: ‘I knew next time, it wouldn’t be the wall he hit.’

The pain in her voice and on her face cut right through you.

If anything had happened to her, you would’ve never forgiven yourself.

And that’s all you can think about now: that she could’ve ended up on the news as some horrible cautionary tale, and you weren’t there to protect her. When she needed you most, you weren’t there.

You’re not sure you can forgive yourself for that either, even if she has.

How are you supposed to pretend everything is OK after that? You have no idea where to start, and neither does Karma, which is exactly why you gave in and said you’d go to Red like you always do. Jordan said it was, ‘the perfect antidote to everything going on,’ and she was right. In theory.

For an hour or so, it was great. OK so, you still kind of hate getting dressed up when you know all you’ll do is sweat off the makeup, and the music they play at the club isn’t _really_ to your taste, but it’s fun to when you have your friends around you and you’ve used your fake ID to get their ever-expanding line of neon-coloured cocktails. Plus, it’s always better when Karma’s here, because she really enters into the spirit of things, happy to play hairdresser and curl your hair like she used to back in high school. She’s convinced you should actually _do_ something about this whole ‘Maddie situation.’ It’s not really a situation because she’s chasing you and you’re not biting. You’re still not really sure how you feel, but it’s not what you feel for Karma, and that’s enough for now. If focussing on you means Karma isn’t focussing on Ethan (or the lack of him), then you’ll take it - even if it means Jordan and Cassie tease you like it’s middle school all over again any time they see her nearby. For an hour or so it was great because the DJ was playing everything you’ve come to love, there was a free booth to take dance breaks - and killer heels - more comfortable, and everyone was having fun, singing along to the remixes and mashups on the rare occasions they appeared.

Then, stuff got a whole lot different.

A whole lot different because one moment you were happy drunk, dancing to a Rihanna remix with Karma - though grinding might be more accurate, you’ve never been like that before with her - and the next, she whirled around to face you, shouting over the music that she needed to get outside for some air. Before you could so much as nod, she was dragging you to the balcony by the hand, pushing through the mass of people to get there. Heart racing, skin beaded with sweat, the November cold was like a slap in the face. Immediately sobering. You had your hands on Karma’s hips, _she_ put them there. She was the one who pressed into you and encouraged you, but this feels different to all those other _moments_ you’ve had. The panic in her face had nothing to do with you, and maybe everything to do with you.

It’s always been like that, you think.

The silence stretched between you seems to last an eternity before you’re brave enough to reach out to her. Behind you, the music still pounds, people are still dancing and drinking. Out here, people are doing the same, talking and jostling for space and refuge from the heat of other bodies. The beat of the music vibrates underfoot. You can hear and feel it. Maybe even more than when you were inside. Karma’s next to you leaning on the balcony railing for support, breathing heavily. Instinctively, you reach over and place your hand on hers. At that, she looks up. She’s been crying. Inky trails of mascara run down her face as evidence, otherwise it’s drained of all colour.

“Are you OK?” you ask, voice a little hoarse from shouting to make yourself heard all evening.

“Sorry I … I … I just needed some air,” comes her stuttering reply. “It got a little much in there.”

“I know, hot as hell in there,” you nod sympathetically, unsure what else to say, or even if you should say anything at all. This is about more than you, it _has_ to be. In all your conversations with her thus far, you’ve held back, and let her take the lead, giving her space to breathe, space to talk, just the space for anything because Ethan always needed to know where she was at every second of the day, making her send licence plate photos whenever she took a cab. That sounds like a sweet, protective thing in isolation, but not when it’s coupled with sending texts and setting down what amounted to a curfew.

“I just need a second,” she says, like there’s something to apologise for. There isn’t. You hate seeing her like this. “I thought I saw Ethan when I was dancing with you.”

Immediately, you whip around, expecting to see him standing there, ready to knock your block off for being all over her - you kept your hands respectfully still, but she guided you to touch her anyway, she wanted you to. It’s a relief to find he’s not, but you hate that he’s rattled you so easily. Karma’s been jumping at her own shadow all week. Anyone that bears a passing resemblance to him on campus has sent her reeling. As a result, you’ve become hyper aware of every tall blond-haired guy with green eyes and a preppy wardrobe.

(you don’t like to think about the first time Shane saw a photograph and pointed out the resemblance between you)

“Hey, hey, it’s OK. You’re safe,” assuring yourself as much as her. “Whatever you need to do, we do. If you want to bail on this, I’ll get Jord and Cass and we’ll go.”

“No, I want to stay, I just got a little freaked out. Things got on top of me,” she heaves a breath, trying to steady herself. “I don’t want to ruin everything,” her voice breaks a little and it hurts you to hear.

You hate seeing her like this. You hate it.

“You’re _not_ , I promise.”

She turns around, back to the railing now, looking at the people around you, everyone bathed in the red-pink glow of the lights. You match her, automatically putting an arm around her when she shivers against the cold in her short, fitted green dress. Just when she was starting to let go and have fun, get back to something like the Karma you know, he’s reared his ugly head. _Again_.

“It’s just, I don’t know how to feel sometimes,” she admits, mostly addressing the floor. “He was such an asshole to me Amy,” you squeeze her tighter, kiss her hair. “But, he’s this huge part of my life and I don’t know what to do. The longer we were together, the more of the Ethan I loved disappeared. How can I possibly be sad about that after everything?”

Well, that’s new. There’s no fear in her eyes anymore, only sadness.

“You’re allowed to feel like that, to be sad,” you hear yourself say, somewhat surprised you have. “It’s a weird thing, he’s was important. You loved him,” you swallow, fixing your gaze at a vague point on the wall to keep from losing it. “He just didn’t treat you the way you deserve, Karma, and you can’t live like that. I can’t stand to see you hurt like that.”

The fact you effectively walked away from her last year because of this goes unsaid. She knows the separation hurt you, there’s no need to pour salt on an already open, gaping wound. She inhales sharply, and you know she didn’t expect you to say anything like that. You’ve done your raging, called him every name you can think of - mostly in your head, sometimes aloud - but you’re done with that now. You’re over. If there was a way to eradicate him completely from Karma’s mind and save her the pain, _Eternal Sunshine_ style, you’d help her do it.

“I just feel so stupid!” she cries, and several people swivel to look at you, attention piqued.

“What?” you snap at them, glaring, and they all turn back.

You move around to shield Karma from their view, as you’ve done so many times this week.

“I’m so fucking stupid for falling for him and his _fucking_ Prince Charming bullshit.” she yells, swallowing hard, gulping air, and you actually see the tears fall this time. “I don’t even know who he really is, Amy! How fucked up is that?!”

You sigh heavily, pulling her into your arms. She starts to sob again, desperately. You’ve never felt so useless. Like always, you shush her and stroke her hair, twisting your fingers lightly through it. Like always, it calms her, and you step away.

“Don’t _ever_ let me hear you say you’re stupid, again.” It comes out much more forcefully than you intended, but you hate that she thinks so little of herself. You take her face in your hands, brushing away the tears as they fall. “Never say that!” your voice hits some strange, high peak, heavy with emotion. “You fell in love, Karma. He turned against you and manipulated you. It’s all him. All you did was fall in love, that’s never wrong.”

“I should’ve listened to Princess Sarcasm instead of Prince Charming, shouldn’t I?”

You look at her for long moments, speechless, just staring.

She remembers. She remembers your speech and the jail, the faking and the not faking, and the _feelings_ and everything. You don’t talk about it, not anymore, but it’s always been there. You’ve known that, you’ve learned to live with it - loving Karma is a part of you - but to hear _her_ saying that in the here and now, is just weird, and wonderful, and mind-blowing. But, it’s all laced with a strange sort of sadness because of the circumstances surrounding it - all the tears, and the pain, and the missed opportunities when you thought Karma might love you “like that,” and you were right all along.

Karma always realises things in retrospect when it’s usually too late.

Your brain is just starting to think in something approaching coherent sentences when you realise that your phone is ringing, vibrating in the back pocket of your jeans for the fourth time tonight. It’s enough to jolt you into doing something. You blink back surprise, pulling away from Karma as you say, “I should get that,” before turning your back on her.

If that was some sort of test, you failed. Spectacularly.

The second you focus on the screen, you don’t want to answer the call. It’s too much now, with Karma’s words going around and around in your head, your heart hammering in your chest so loud it drowns out the music. Why now? Why when Karma’s said more than she ever has, is there another girl’s name lighting up your phone screen. Maddie. Maddie’s calling you. All you have to do is swipe your thumb across the screen and talk to her, but after what Karma just said, you’re in no mood to relive what happened at Jen’s party, or even repeat it. So, you just let it keep ringing, until the screen dims and you know it’s gone to voicemail. As soon as you put it back in your pocket and turn back to Karma, you feel strangely relieved.

“Who was that?” she asks, and it feels loaded, like what she just said wasn’t some throwaway comment.

Like she refuses to believe you when you tell her she’s beautiful and deserves to be loved.

“No one,” you shake your head for good measure. Those lines you really don’t want to blur are dangerously close to intersecting.

“I know it was Maddie, it’s OK,” a breath, long and unsteady. It’s so cold out here you can see it. “Why do you keep pushing her away?”

You’re not remotely sober enough for this conversation.

“It’s complicated,” you shrug, and it feels like a cheat and a lie all at once.

“And I complicated it more?”

She’s close again, looking at you with this sweet sort of earnestness that you haven’t seen for a long time. It’s the expression she always used to wear when she thought she’d hurt your feelings. Usually, she had, but this time, there’s nothing to be hurt over, just a _fuckton_ of things to be confused about.

“Maybe,” is all you offer, and she stays silent. “We should go back inside,” you suggest, when that silence gets so heavy, it’s suffocating.

She heaves a breath. “We should, it’s cold out here.”

When she goes ahead of you, pushing her way back inside, it feels like you definitely made a mistake. You have no experience with this. Karma’s never responded to you like this before. The only place she’s done anything like it is in your dreams, and it’s been a really long time since she’s been the star of the show. You’re still adjusting to the intense heat and the noise when someone reaches for you, clinging on. For a second, you think it’s Karma, but when the lights phase, you see its Cassie.

She lets out an ear-piercing screech of, ‘Rad!” beaming at you. She’s drunk. She’s _really_ drunk, and really, _really_ , happy.

“Cass!” you exclaim, laughing, like you haven’t seen her in years. You lost touch at the start of the night when she disappeared into the crowd during her favourite song, arms up, swaying to the music.

“Jord!” Cassie cries, with the exact same enthusiasm, pulling Jordan toward you. She’s hot, sweaty, drunk and dishevelled.

“Look who I found!” she says, moves to the left slightly, revealing Karma at her side, holding two drinks.

For a second, it’s awkward and weird because you don’t really know what to do, but then, like always, Karma rescues you. With a small smile, she holds out a drink. When you take it, that smile widens. You’re not sure why, but it seems like a peace offering of some kind; a strong, vodka-based peace offering, but you’re fine with it.

“Let’s just dance?” she says, half statement, half question, tilting her head slightly.

You mouthe a ‘sorry,’ and she shakes her head. It’s forgotten.

“You heard her!” Cassie crows, wagging her finger to make you come closer and start to move. “Let’s go, bitches!”

You down your drink and toss the plastic cup on the nearest surface, dragged along when Jordan and Cassie head right for the middle of the main dance floor. Karma reaches behind her blindly, and you immediately grab her hand, not wanting to be left behind. Maybe it’s a mistake, maybe you’ll regret this more than not answering Maddie, you don’t really care, not when you’re feeling like this; with the welcome burn of liquor sliding down your throat, with Cassie and Jordan encouraging you with their infectious energy and Karma, Karma, Karma. Always Karma. Even in this crowded club, she’s the focus of your attention. All night, no matter where you’ve been or who you’ve been talking to on the brief occasions you’ve been apart, you find her, naturally, easily.

Eventually, you’re in the centre of the dance floor, all arranged in this strange sort of semicircle when the dancing mass of bodies surges, and it forces you closer together than you really should be. You don’t know how it happened, but you and Karma are sandwiched between Jordan and Cassie, dancing together. The music changes into another track and you all turn to each other, eyes wide with a simultaneous cry of “Oh my God, I love this song!”

“Years and Years!” Karma shouts, pulling you closer, as if you needed a reminder.

“I know!”

“Remember when we used to drive to school listening to this?!”

“Of course!”

She’s close, with her arms threaded around your neck, singing to you just like she would in the car, only you can’t really hear her, focussing on the shape of her mouth forming the words.

_I was a king under your control …_

She looks happy. She looks free. She looks beautiful.

You don’t want to blink in case it somehow ruins the image.

_I was a king under your control …_

Karma brushes your hair out of your face, accidentally brushing your cheek. As soon as her hand touches your skin, it turns to goose flesh, and your breath catches, accompanied by a familiar rush of feeling. Maybe Jordan and Cassie are pushing you together, maybe they’re not, but everything feels so _charged_ between you all of a sudden, in a way it hasn’t been for a really long time. That heavy tension you felt between you both in the practice room is back. You wanted to kiss her then, you want to kiss her now.

She studies you carefully, tongue darting out to wet her lips, and you know it’s going to happen. She wants this too. This time, there’s no surprise crash of her lips against yours, you know it’s coming, almost in slow-motion. Her mouth barely brushes against yours, soft but curious. She pulls back, slightly - deliciously - dazed, and you need to kiss her again. As soon as you move forward and kiss her back; harder, more insistent, all you can think is how different it feels. She isn’t holding back, she doesn’t seem tense; she isn’t about to run away. She’s clinging to you, grabbing at your shirt, surging forward, desperate for more. So you give it, deepening the next kiss, swallowing down the moan that escapes.

This time you don’t care who sees, or what they say. You don’t even care what Karma will do in the morning. You’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it’s never felt more right. This isn’t just another kiss. This is _the_ kiss you’ve been wishing and hoping for ever since you tentatively kissed her surrounded by ticker tape instead of neon strobe lights. It’s different to Maddie and the drunken kiss you shared in the kitchen. It’s different to Reagan, and Sabrina, and all the other girls you thought you loved before.

It’s Karma.


	5. Days of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following events at Red nightclub, Amy and Karma enter a new phase of their relationship. Their choice forces Amy to consider what it really means for the life she’s created in Karma’s absence.
> 
> _“So far, the day has been nothing like you expected.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For general story notes see [chapter one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7449124/chapters/16925410). Apologies for the delay in posting this one, life got in the way. This is pretty much an exploration of how easily Karmy veer into the romantic and how this impacts upon them, but this time, the outcome is different to what the girls experienced in canon. I know the pacing of this story is pretty concentrated, so I hope it remains something that’s both enjoyable and believable. If you’re unsure about where this is going have faith in me, you’ll be rewarded. About as fluffy as this ‘verse can get, I wanted to give the girls some breathing space, and time to just be. What follows is the coming together of those ideas. In case you’re wondering, the academic author Amy references throughout this chapter is a real person.

****Waking up with the hangover from hell has never been so wonderful.

You don’t mind that it’s so cold your fingers felt like they were going to drop off by the time you survived the walk to the campus library, and you’ve been stuck on the eighth floor for hours now. You don’t mind that you have a paper to write and you can’t find another copy of the textbook you _really_ need to start properly writing it. You don’t even mind that the lights in here are _painfully_ bright, and they make you want to gouge out your eyes for some relief. You’ll take the hangover, the cold, the eye strain, and the paper writing stress, because everything is different. People write songs about this kind of stuff. Karma writes songs about this kind of stuff, wishing and hoping it’ll happen to her. You’re smiling like an idiot even though you woke up feeling like _death_ , shielding your eyes from the light. As soon as you adjusted to it, you saw Karma hovering next to your bed, beaming at you like some sort of angel with water and painkillers in hand. And then, it got even better, because as soon as you swallowed the pills, she took the empty glass, climbed back into bed and kissed you instead of saying good morning.

Yeah, that’s right, you kissed. Again. Sober. Happy. No drama.

You kissed again for twenty minutes straight until your actual alarm clock went off and forced you to really start the day. Needless to say, you took a cold shower – make that a _very_ cold shower – instead of a hot one.

So far, the day has been _nothing_ like you expected.

Going off previous experience, once coffee and reality kicked in, you were certain that what happened at the club would be just like every other _not so fake_ kiss you’ve shared with Karma, and she’d either refuse to acknowledge it happened, or pass it off as some drunken mistake, and you’d be back on the familiar merry-go-round of awkward silence punctuated by apologies. There’s been none of that. OK, so, you haven’t actually talked about what happened yet, but you haven’t consciously _not_ talked about it either. It just hasn’t come up, but you’re definitely going to make time for Karma to speak about it, because you really want to make sure this isn’t just some comfort-slash-coping-mechanism thing, or whether she’s just turned the biggest (but slowest) emotional one-eighty ever.

Whichever it is, you need to know where you stand, because you’re not a 15-year-old lovesick puppy anymore, and neither is she.

The rest of the night at Red was pretty much a blur of drinks and dancing with a lot more making out. You don’t remember how you all got home or anything like that, but you do remember kissing Karma – the pressure of her lips, the sweep of her tongue against yours, the soft hitches in her breathing – with _ridiculous_ clarity. Honestly, given “how hot and heavy it got” (Jordan’s words, not yours), you’re amazed you didn’t end up sleeping together. Waking up in your pj’s was something of a relief. That’s not to suggest you _don’t_ want to sleep with Karma, because, erm, you do – there’s no universe where you’re not attracted to her – but you’re just wary. You don’t want to take advantage. You want to make sure she’s OK with all of this before anything else happens. Whatever _this_ is, and _if_ anything else happens.

Except, you shouldn’t really be thinking about all of this now. You should be thinking about the fact you have a very unfinished paper, and people keep derailing your studious intentions with offers of lunch dates, and nights out, and kissing you in such a way that you can’t help but keep thinking about it when you should be doing those studious things. If you got graded on how long you’ve spent looking at your laptop screen, _not_ writing, you’d have aced it by now. At least when you were preoccupied with worrying about Karma, it was vaguely productive use of time, it had purpose. Thinking about kissing Karma (and doing a lot more than that), is just a waste of time. A pretty hot waste of time, but still a waste of time.

“Hey, I found your Barry book!” Karma declares in the loudest whisper _ever_.

Barry. The way she says it is kind of cute, like he’s a friend instead of an important academic who you’ll probably never get to equal.

“Oh my God, where?!”

She smiles _that_ smile, dropping to kneel next to you. “On the shelf.”

“Ha-ha,” you glance over at her, smiling wryly.

She shuffles backwards, sitting with her back to the nearest shelf, legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. It’s not the most comfortable seat, but she doesn’t seem to mind. You don’t either.

“No, seriously, it was miss-shelved is all,” she shrugs. “You probably had book blindness anyway.”

As soon as she passes it to you, you flip through the contents page idly and close it again. Now it’s in your hand, it doesn’t seem all that important. It’s a little anticlimactic.

Truthfully, you _never_ want to read the name Barry Keith Grant again. All the call numbers of the books you need are getting mixed up in your head. Every time you’ve looked for the damn thing it’s been taken out, or someone else has beaten you to putting a hold on it. What happened to sharing knowledge? It was probably that Kyle guy. He hates you. At the thought of him, you frown and pain blooms again in your eye sockets, and you really wish you’d picked up your aviators from the nightstand. It’s douchey as _fuck_ to wear sunglasses in November, but you don’t care. You and Karma drunk pretty much the same, had water before you went to bed, and painkillers this morning, but it’s made no difference. Karma’s as sunny as ever - thank god - seemingly unaffected by any of it. Whatever other tricks she has up her sleeve, you need to know them. You refused everything including Charlie’s _fucking disgusting_ raw egg hangover cure, and Karma’s offer of breakfast pancakes (oh did that grieve you), and the lunch ideas that followed it.

“Remind me never to drink tequila again,” you groan, eyes closed, head resting back on the shelf. “What about that was a good idea?” you groan, and she lets out a little chuckle. It’s adorable.

“Oh, I don’t know, it was fun, wasn’t it?” a pause. “I had fun,” another pause. You don’t dare open your eyes. “I liked it.”

You smile, and immediately the pain dulls a little. It _was_ fun and you did like it. You can’t remember partying at Red like that for a really long time, maybe since freshman year. Though you’ve probably repressed it, you’re sure you used to be able to hold your liquor better, but you also never used to mix your drinks back then either. What is it your nana always says, grape before grain? Grain before grape? It’s one of those. Anyway, regardless of how you’re feeling right now, you think you all needed the release,  especially Karma. She seems so much happier today, so much more like herself. One of the few things you _can_ remember after kissing Karma is the taste of the tequila and the delicious burn, the salt and the lime. You can remember the taste of it on her lips. On her tongue. It’s worth the pain now.

“All of it?” you venture, still not daring to open your eyes.

“Yeah.”

At that, your eyes snap open. You’re not sure what you expected really, but it wasn’t that. You expected classic flat out denial, or something about how she got ‘caught up in the moment.’ Your lack of faith is kind of astounding, but you have reason to be cautious. You’ve both been here before. A lot. You sit up straighter, turning toward her. This is important. There’s a pile of books between you like a Chinese wall. She suddenly feels much too far away. The first thing you want to ask is ‘do you remember kissing,’ but you don’t think that’s fair. History is called history for a reason. Karma in high school isn’t Karma now.  

“Good.” you offer quietly. Instinctively, you reach forward, moving one of the books. Her eyes never leave yours. “Me too.”

“So worth the headache,” she laughs again, but it’s nervous. She moves a book too, shuffling closer. “I really liked kissing you,” she glances downward, flushing. “I mean, I always liked it, but it felt …” she tails off, shaking her head, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“Different?” you prompt, picking the least loaded word possible. This is delicate.

“Good, kind of amazing really.”

Well _that’s_ new. She could barely admit to drunkenly kissing you before now, let alone profess to liking it. Times change. If you weren’t _very_ awake right now, you’d swear you were dreaming. She’s figured a lot in your dreams over the years. Your subconscious never quite got it right though. You always knew if this day came that she’d be different to the Dream Karma that immediately confesses love. You just never expected it to happen here and now, cloaked in silence, dust, panic, and artificial yellow lighting.

“Oh,” is all you muster. If you could smack yourself in the head, you would.

“I know, I took my time.”

Suddenly, it feels like she’s talking about much more than kissing you.

You move fractionally forward, you don’t want to scare her. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I’m seeing that,” she nods, blushing again. “I know the timing is wrong.”

“No kidding,” you let out a short bark of too-loud laughter. It makes her relax. Somewhere nearby you here a harsh, ‘shhh’, and you look around, glaring at no one in particular.

“But ...”

You both reach for another book at the same time, fingertips brushing.

“But?” you ask, head tilted in question.

“But I don’t really care about that,” she swallows hard. You’re close enough to hear the gulp. “I like this. I feel,” she pauses, searching for the words, and you hold your breath. “I feel happy. You make me happy. Ethan … I was … I wasn’t happy with him … It took me way too long to see that.”

That’s been a really long time coming for a lot of reasons. She’s never spoken about him like this before. The situation is far from perfect, and she’s still going through so much that you don’t want to push her too hard about what it might mean. It’s not fair.

“You deserve to be happy,” you offer, with a strange calmness you never expected to have.

Dream Karma has said these kinds of things a lot, but it doesn’t remotely lessen the impact.

“I want to be happy with you,” she blurts out suddenly. Dream Karma was never this brave. “I don’t know what that means right now, but I wanted you to know, because I never thought I’d feel that way again.”

You reach up and stroke her cheek for no real reason, forgetting where you are and who might be watching. “Oh, Karm.”  

“Is that enough for you? Is that enough for now? I’ve screwed you around so much, I know that, but we’re not in high school anymore, and I mean it. I mean it this time, Amy. I promise -” It all comes out of her in one great rush.

You don’t need to hear anything else, but Karma does. She needs some kind of assurance, some kind of answer, but words seem superfluous. There’s only one thing you want to do that will possibly convey how you’re feeling. You need to kiss her, and you can’t wait until you’re in private to do it. Karma’s had enough confessions of love, you have to show it. You surge forward, grab her face and kiss her, your lips pressing hard to hers, ignoring the awkward angle and how it hurts your neck, and the fact you’re kissing in library, and have fifty or so witnesses in close proximity.

Fuck it. Fuck them.

You’ve waited _years_ for this. This is your _fucking_ Lloyd Dobler moment, and you don’t need a boombox or Peter Gabriel to talk for you. Instead, you have a mouth, and a tongue, that’ll say all you need. You pull back, just a little, kissing her a little softer, brushing your lips against hers slowly. This time, she’s the one who leans in, kissing you back more passionately than you expected her to, and you let out a surprised gasp. Her tongue barely flicks into your mouth and you have to pull back, breathless. The book stacks aren’t enough of a shield, and if you kiss her the way you really want to, you’re pretty sure you’ll get arrested.

“We should …” you let out a shuddering breath. “Not here.”

She nods, her cheeks burning. “Sorry, I kinda got carried away.”

“Never apologise for that, OK?” you slide a hand upwards, brushing her hair off her face.

“OK,” she smiles sheepishly. “I just really wanted to kiss you,” she adds, barely above a whisper. You nod. That’s the understatement of the last several millennia.

“Still good?” you’re going for light and jokey, but there’s a telltale raspiness to your voice you can’t hide. You’re ridiculously turned on, and so is she, tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“So much better than good,” she nods, beaming.

You just nod, gazing at her in a way you’re sure would be described as ‘dreamily.’ The attention makes her blush, and she looks away, bashful. Your heart grows about ten sizes. If you could, you’d go back to your apartment right now, but you can’t because you have a screening of _Annie Hall_ to go to, and Matt said he’d gatecrash, bring coffee, filling you in on the latest instalment of his crush on Bennett the Hot Barista - he’s _insanely_ hot, model hot, TV show hot, and really, if anyone else deserves some happiness right now, you want it to be Matt. Then, it’s Jordan’s turn to cook so there will be some sort of pasta-pizza fest, and you have to figure out how to get through all of that and finish this damn paper before you drop down dead. You’re really going to need Matt’s coffee. Here’s hoping he gets double shots.

“I should go and check these out I guess,” you offer sadly, holding up the Grant book, trying and failing to stand. Sitting down was a mistake. “Fuck, I’m never drinking again. Everything else can stick though.”

“Uh-huh, I believe you,” she shakes her head, sighing, and scoops up a bunch of the books, tucking them under her arm. “Come on, Little Miss Delicate, up,” she says, smiling sweetly and offering her hand.

“I’m in pain, don’t mock me!” you pout, taking the remainder of the books, hoping you can fit them all in your messenger bag.

“I know you are,” she replies, soft and sincere.

She’s still holding your hand and you both realise it at the same time. It’s nice. You’ve forgotten how comfortable it is, how easily your fingers lace with hers, made to fit. You give her hand what you hope is a reassuring squeeze. Everything is new. Everything is wonderful. Everything is extraordinary. Even walking through the book stacks weighed down by a heavy bag and having to wait in line at the self-check machine, watching supposedly smart people get the simplest of fucking tasks wrong, trying to scan the books upside down. It’s wonderful because Karma’s holding your hand all the while, positively glowing with happiness, and you just feel like announcing how amazing this is and how _fucking_ amazing you are together.

Together.

The realisation hits you quite suddenly when you get to the front of the line for the machine, and you miss the scanning window entirely, so Karma takes over for you without a word. You and Karma are together. Not together in the same space, well, you are, but that’s not what you mean. You’re not Karma and Amy, you’re KarmaAndAmy. No spaces. The thought alone makes you smile at her idiotically as you pack your bag, trying to distribute the weight.

“Let’s go,” you say, tilting your head in the direction of the exit.

“Let’s go,” she repeats, smiling. “I’ll take Barry,” she adds, sliding the book out from where it peaks out from your bag and putting it into her own.

“All yours.”

You probably look ridiculous, but you don’t care. You don’t care because Karma’s still holding your hand all the way down the stairs, and while you weave across campus with her, dodging people on bicycles and deceptively deep puddles left behind by an earlier downpour. The whole thing of being like this is still fascinating, and every so often, you have to keep looking down to make sure her hand is still there. You keep holding on even when you have to stretch to go around people, gripping tighter. The only time you’re forced to break that contact is when it starts to rain again.

“C’mere, you’ll freeze,” you say, putting an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to keep her warm.

“Thanks.”

She’s not dressed for New York. All she’s wearing is her denim jacket, still shivering even though she’s bundled up in your beanie and scarf. She curls into you, putting an arm around your waist, and it feels kind of perfect.

“Aims, your phone’s going off,” she says softly, breaking the most comfortable silence you’ve ever felt.

You fish around in your coat pocket, flipping over the phone to see a new message. It’s not Matt asking about coffee orders like you thought. You stop walking. It’s Maddie. She seems to know the best and worst time to text. You wheel around, shielding yourself from the rain in an alleyway. Tellingly, Karma hangs back a little. That familiar tension is back, and it’s not the good kind. You want that blissful, crazy mood back. Now. You never asked for it to leave.

 

 **Maddie (3:16 PM):  
** Change your mind about Jen’s?  
Maybe pick up where we left off?

 

You stare at the screen, not sure how to answer or even if you should, very aware Karma might be able to see what you say.

“She’s persistent,” Karma comments with a knowing look, pulling away from you. “You can go if you want.”

You stare at her for a second, blinking back surprise. “I don’t.”

The response, the one you’ve wanted to type all along since you woke up with another hangover after another party at Jen’s house sleeping in your clothes, turns out to be easier to type than you thought.

 

 **Amy (3:28 PM):  
** Sorry, I can’t. It was fun, Mads,   
but I’m done with hooking up, OK?

 

“Amy, you don’t have to do that,” Karma says, venturing into the alley.

You don’t need to see what Maddie will say in return, pocketing your phone again. This time you mean it. She won’t talk you around. You don’t want to be that girl anymore. She can’t give you what you truly want, and you don’t want to settle. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know where things with Karma are going, but it does matter that you know where things aren’t going with Maddie anymore.

“I mean it. I don’t want to go to some party and get drunk again, OK? I want to sit and drink coffee with you and Matt on that old corner couch, and bitch about Woody Allen before we go and watch Woody Allen and be mesmerised by it all anyway. I want to go back to my apartment and make dinner with you and my friends, eat until we can’t move and end up watching crappy TV, and drink crappy wine while I’m sitting next to you on our other favourite couch. I don’t want her, I want you.”

It all comes out of you in one huge rush, and no one’s more surprised about it than you. So much for not giving her one of your big speeches. You really didn’t mean to say the last part out loud.

Karma doesn’t say anything in reply. Instead, she closes the distance between you and leans up to kiss you, just once. Soft, but deliberate. It says everything. You wait; searching her face, checking she’s OK before you kiss her again, hand resting on her cheek. You keep kissing her, again and again, longer and deeper each time, forgetting about the cold and the beginnings of fresh rain in the air.

You might be a little late for Starbucks, but Matt will forgive you. Right now, this is exactly where you need to be.


	6. Body Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working late into the night on her paper, Amy reflects on the changes in her relationship with Karma and wonders how far it can really go. A simple request from Karma leads them both to a place Amy never imagined.
> 
> _“Loving someone doesn’t make them your possession.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For general story notes see [chapter one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7449124/chapters/16925410). The penultimate chapter! This one is the sole reason why the story exists. Every narrative and creative choice I’ve made leads to a particular point that’s explored within this chapter and it was incredibly important to me to get it right. I hope I have. To say anything else would ruin it.

****Living in your own little bubble with Karma has consequences.

Consequences like being up at four in the morning trying to write a conclusion to your paper and finish the references so you can have it emailed to Dr Sloane by Monday’s deadline. There’s a whole day to go, but that’s also Karma’s last day with you, and you’re not about to waste it. You’re going to take her to your favourite diner in Washington Square with everyone for your Sunday breakfast ritual. After that, it’ll just be the two of you, and an afternoon movie at the Village East – _Casablanca_ or _Sunset Boulevard_ , something romantic – before you take her to the station to get her train back to Fairfield. You know she has to go, but you still hate it. She has to start getting her life together, move back in with Natalie and Skylar, and go to the last week of classes before Christmas break.

Sitting here typing away still feels like you’re wasting what little time you have left.

You could be with her now, lying in bed, sleeping in each other’s arms, or kissing her, or anything but _this_. She’s been asleep for hours, hugging your pillow, completely oblivious to the typing, paper rustling, and cursing. You’ve glanced over every once in awhile, just to check she’s OK, and ended up watching her for longer than intended. Even though she’s asleep, it still feels like you’re missing something. It’s nice to be next to her, close to her, like you’ve never been before. She blames herself for distracting you, but you don’t see it like that. It was an emergency situation, she _needed_ to come here and reconnect with you. She needed to get the _fuck_ out of Connecticut and break the cycle with Ethan, and that’s more important than any of this. Deep down, you know this can’t last indefinitely. As much as you’d love her to stay here forever, she can’t, and you’re not going to make her. You’re part of her life again, but you’re not her entire life, and you wouldn’t want to be either.

Loving someone doesn’t make them your possession.

If thoughts like that aren’t a sign you’ve been awake too long, you don’t know what is. You heave a deep sigh, arching your back, stretching to relieve your stiffness. Not long now, you think, scrolling back through the document. You spot mistakes, but it’s too late for this now. There’s probably a half hour’s work left tops. If you call it a night now, at least you’ll have something to do once Karma’s gone that doesn’t involve staring at the phone waiting for her to call.

What is it Hemingway said? Write drunk, edit sober? What would he think about writing on three hours of sleep and editing fuelled by five cups of coffee?

Fuck it. You’re done.

At the exact moment you choose to close your textbooks and think about shutting off your laptop, you hear a soft rustling of covers. You don’t even have to turn your chair to know Karma’s awake now.

 _Shit._ You made too much noise.

“I know, I know, I said I’d take ten minutes like three hours ago,” you say, in a loud whisper. “I’m sorry if I woke you with the light and all the typing. Go back to sleep, it’s OK.”

“Amy, come to bed,” her voice sounds delicious. Sleepy and bed-warm.

“I’ll be right there, babe,” you offer, rubbing at your temple while you save and re-save the document for the thousandth time.

Belatedly, you realise what you said. _Babe_. A slip of the tongue. Things are different between you, but are they _that_ different?

“Come to bed.”

Just from the raspy edge to her voice, you know this time _is_ different. It’s not ‘come to bed’ because it’s late or you’re tired. It’s not ‘come to bed’ to sleep. It’s ‘come to bed’ to sleep _with_ me. She wants this. She wants you.

“OK,” is all you can manage, mouth suddenly dry. The hands resting on your now closed laptop are shaking slightly, betraying you. It has nothing to do with November cold.

There’s another rustle of covers, and when you actually turn your chair, Karma’s coming towards you wearing the softest of smiles. Even in the dim light of the room, she looks utterly perfect. Wordlessly, she takes both of your hands in her own, walking you both toward to the bed.

“Are you sure?”

This is where you’ve been headed, of course, you both know that. But, you don’t want her to do this to please you, or get caught up in the moment and regret it later.

“Completely,” she replies, looking you right in the eyes. “I want …” a breath. “I’m ready.”

“OK,” you smile, reassured, relaxing a little. “I want this too.”

It seems stupid to say, but you needed to anyway.

“Glasses,” she says quietly, reaching up to carefully take them off, placing them on the nightstand.

A nervous breath of laughter escapes you.

They’re new, only for reading, and you forget you’re wearing them most of the time – Karma thinks the tortoise shell makes you look like a sexy librarian, you think they make you look _painfully_ hipster – but taking them off feels huge. You tilt your head down slightly at the moment when she lifts hers, foreheads almost touching as you hover on the edge of a very important – perhaps the _most_ important – kiss you’ve ever shared. When it happens, that kiss doesn’t have the rough, needy, desperate edge that they’ve gained recently, it’s soft, light, almost nothing. You let go of her hands, cradling her face with your own as you slowly deepen the kiss.

“We’ll go slow, OK?” you whisper, when she pulls away, stroking her cheek with your thumb. It’s a fail safe, you’re 50/50 excited and terrified. You don’t want to rush and ruin everything.

This matters. Karma matters.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she admits, quieter still, her hands hovering somewhere near your waist, ghosting but not touching. The nervousness in her voice is kind of adorable.

She has nothing to worry about if the way she kisses is anything to go by.

“You know more than you think,” you reply, with a small smile, and peck her on the lips for reassurance, harder, more deliberate.

Then, you kiss her again, and you keep kissing her, letting your hands drift downwards to find the hem of the sweatshirt she loves to sleep in. A long time ago, it was yours. You pull it up and off in one slow, smooth motion. Karma lets you without question. It’s less smooth and a little awkward when you’re forced to stop kissing to detangle her hair, but it releases the tension and makes her laugh, so it’s worth the embarrassment. For a second, you keep hold of the sweatshirt, fascinated by the heat – her heat – that lingers, dropping it to the floor when she surges forward to kiss you with an urgency that wasn’t there before, taking you by surprise. She grabs for your sweater, but misses.

“Hey, it doesn’t have to be like that.”

The small nod she gives in reply says everything. She’s not used to being treated this way.

“Take two?”

“Take two,” you echo, amused, but touched. You pull off your sweater in one swift move, tossing it to the floor. She looks relieved things are little more even, letting out a long breath. You move back toward her carefully, threading your arms around her waist. “Stop thinking, just feel it.”

Another nod. You lean down to kiss her again, hands dropping to her hips, your fingertips lightly stroking the skin in the space between hem of her tank and the waistband of her pj pants. It’s soft, and warm, and perfect. She shudders at the touch, and you take it as a good sign, letting your kisses drift slowly, softly, across her jaw and down her neck while you inch her tank upwards, stopping halfway. She hums approval. Her nervousness is disappearing. She’s less in her head about this. You smile against her skin, pressing lighter kisses against her shoulders, just to keep contact a moment longer, before you pull the tank completely off. There’s no tangling this time, no nervous laughter, and she doesn’t need you to tell her what to do, reaching for your t-shirt and sliding it upwards – cautious but curious. And there you are, inches apart, both half naked, just looking at each other. Her mouth hangs just a little open, gaze fixed right on your breasts for a few moments too long.  

You don’t mind her looking, because you are too. She’s beautiful.

“I like slow,” she says, her eyes still raking over you in this awed way.

“Me too,” you reply, capturing her mouth again for another kiss.

The one that follows is deeper, greedier, your hands tugging impatiently at the ties on her pj pants at the same time she fumbles with the ones on your sweats, mouths barely breaking contact except for when you need to, kicking off your pants.There’s just a couple of steps now to get to the bed, but you take her hand anyway, lacing your fingers together, sitting on its edge, covers bunched underneath. You stay like that for a moment, just kissing – softer, shorter little pecks – easing her backwards until you’re sitting opposite each other, Karma’s legs hooked over yours so you can bring her closer, your hands resting on her thighs, stroking idle patterns. She looks more nervous again, and you feel it too.

It’s not like this with other girls. Not anymore, but Karma’s not other girls. She never has been.

“We can just kiss if you want?” you offer gently.

Honestly, you don’t really care if that’s all you do. She’s a ridiculously good kisser. Doing that, even with clothes on has gotten you pretty close before. She just turns you on. Period.

She lets out a breath you didn’t know she was holding. “I want more than that.”

 _Oh_ . You swallow hard, surprised when she reaches forward, hands hovering between your breasts and your waist, unsure where or how to touch. So, you take them in yours and place them right on your breasts, guiding her a little, letting her squeeze. She relaxes. A short huff of laughter escapes her when she registers what’s happening.

“See? Easy,” you say, softly, watching a smile bloom on her features as she starts to move on her own, squeezing experimentally. Letting your hands fall away, you give into it, arching into her touch. When her thumb swipes across your nipples – already taut, sensitive – a low moan escapes you, eyes briefly fluttering closed. “That’s … Good.”

“Yeah …?”

You answer her with another kiss, hands gripping the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, twisting slightly. She gasps when you deepen it; hotter and heavier than before, sliding your tongue into her waiting mouth. Her hands don’t still like you thought they might, they keep roaming, sliding down your sides, and then across your stomach, muscles flexing at the contact. When you break for air, your kisses drift naturally toward her neck when she tilts her head away, nipping and teasing with your teeth, soothing the sharp hiss of pleasure she lets out in response with broad sweeps of your tongue. You can’t get enough of her. You love the feel of her skin under your hands – warm, soft, beautiful, and better than you could never dream of – stroking her shoulders before you kiss there, soft and light.

Slowly, carefully, you ease her backwards to the mattress, one hand on her leg, lifting it to wrap around your waist, while the other hand rests on the back of her head, cradling it even though there’s a pillow. Her own grip on you tightens, nails biting into your shoulders, grasping for purchase. For a moment, you just lie there, mouths inches apart just looking at each other. It’s different now you’re lying down, very nearly naked, as close to her as you can get.

“OK?” you ask gently, stroking her hair.

“OK,” she echoes, but her voice is shaking. She’s shaking a little too.

You brush your lips against hers, and it seems to calm her and you move your hands away. Tentatively, you lower your head, kissing across her collarbones, sinking lower to pepper kisses across her breasts, tongue licking a teasing path in the valley between them before you take one of her nipples into your mouth, sucking greedily, stroking the breast you aren’t touching. She gasps, high and sharp, arching immediately into you. Her hand flies to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of hair, pulling slightly too hard. You don’t care, you don’t care at all. When you switch to the other breast, tongue circling the nipple as well as sucking it, she doesn’t gasp in surprise at the sensation, she moans in pleasure instead – a delicious, low, desperate sound that you’ll likely never tire of hearing.

She’s still making that noise, but softer, when you kiss across her stomach and her hips,  teeth grazing a little. When you look up, you see her hands are in her own hair, eyes closed tight, lip caught between her teeth. She’s ready. She’s _so_ ready now. You glance up again, just to check before you hook your fingers into her panties and slide them down. Her hips lift unconsciously, making it easy for you. Yeah, she’s ready. You pull down your own quickly, tossing them with hers. You need to feel everything about this. You need to be naked. You’re close to her, but it’s not close enough. You’re so very tempted just to settle between her legs and go down on her. It’d be so easy to get her off, she’s wet already – wetter than you expected – but you want to see it happen. The thought alone makes the building ache in your belly get that little bit sharper. You move back up toward her, purposefully slow, hands skating across her skin, until you sink downwards, kissing her heavy and deep at the exact moment your body is flush with hers. You stay like that for what seems like forever, rolling around the bed, just kissing, exploring, hands all over each other, because there’s nothing between you now. Nothing at all.

Karma ends up half on her side, half on her stomach, with you pressed close behind her.  You sweep her hair away, kissing her shoulders and back, tasting salt, sweat, and _her_ . It’s intoxicating. She turns her head back, desperate to reach you. You’re close, but not close enough, so you lean over and kiss her. She grabs the back of your head, kissing back hard and insistent, moaning into your mouth as your hand slides down her stomach, palm flat, fingers spread, until you dip in between her legs. You keep kissing her neck and along her jaw, just brushing, as you start to touch her, fingertips sliding through her slick folds in long, light strokes before drawing tight circles on her clit. Her hand flies to the mattress, grabbing a fistful of the sheet, and her hips push down against your fingers. It’s glorious.

“Feel good, babe?” you whisper, teasingly, already knowing the answer from the soft, content little moans she’s making every time you touch her. Her ‘yes’ is lost around a low groan.

She’s close, too close, you can tell, and you need to slow this down a little. It’s getting too much for her, and from the way your own hips are starting to grind against her ass, seeking friction – anything for release – you know she’s not alone. You lift your hand back up slowly, and she lets out a frustrated whine at the loss of contact. Somehow, you resist the urge to lick your fingers and taste her. Not yet.

“Turn to me,” you instruct, softly, rewarded with another kiss when she rolls onto her back. It’s sloppier and greedier than before, all tongue.

If she keeps kissing you like that for too long, you could easily come without her touching you. Still, you keep going, trading long pecks with bigger gaps in between them. You keep close to her, studying her as she studies you, shaky hands touching your face, tracing the shape of your lips before kissing you again. Her arms thread around your neck, pulling you closer. Your one hand falls to rest above her head, while the other nudges her legs a little wider apart, ending up resting on her thigh. You move it upwards slowly, kissing her each time until you’re cupping her, and then, finally, ease your fingers inside her, your fingers only just curling, as slow as possible, but she feels it  She lets out a harsh gasp, clinging to you tighter immediately, nails biting in. Her eyes flutter closed, hips rising to meet your hand. You watch her through heavy-lidded eyes, kissing her every time you press inside of her, a little faster, a little harder, hearing her moans get louder until she can’t kiss you back at all, and you’re just watching her, eyes open wide, her lips parted in a perfect, silent ‘O.’

She feels amazing. Seeing her like this and being with her like this is amazing. Your arm is starting to ache a little, but you don’t care. All that matters is her. You curl your fingers tighter at just the right moment, hitting the same spot again and again, harder and faster, hearing the bed springs creak a little as you do it. She can scream the house down and wake up the neighbours for all you care. You’ll never see anything more beautiful than this. You’ll never love anyone more than you love her.

And then, it happens, and it’s even more wonderful to watch than you ever imagined. She comes with the sound of your name on her lips and it’s never sounded more beautiful.

“Amy … Amy … Oh … Amy.”

Her release is loud, rushing through her in waves, body shuddering and shaking, her expression is somewhere between extreme shock and absolute bliss. Instinctively, you slow down, wanting so much to keep it going for her, knowing how amazing it feels when someone _really_ knows how to get you off. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think that you’d be the one doing it for Karma. OK, so, maybe in your wildest dreams.

“Breathe, breathe,” you remind her, slowing your movements down to nothing before easing your fingers out carefully, knowing how sensitive she’ll be.

The room is silent, save for her breathing, slower now, but still unsteady, and you kiss her, just once; deliberate, soft.

“Are you OK?” you ask, stroking her cheek.

“That was … I … don’t ... ” she says, breathlessly.

Then she bursts into tears, sobbing, an arm covering her face.

 _Fuck_.

For long – horribly long – seconds your mind races, and you wonder if she regrets this already. If this was too much too soon. It would crush you, but you’d deal with it. You’d have to.

“Oh, Karm, don’t cry, please don’t,” you soothe. “It’s OK.”

You push your own fears aside, knowing have to help her through this. What you’ve just shared is amazing and wonderful, but it’s also scarily overwhelming too. Gently, you lift her arm from her face and wipe away her tears.

“I’m not sad … I never … it’s never been like that.”

_Oh._

“Ever?” you venture, already knowing the answer.

She shakes her head. Suddenly, your elation is gone, and you feel desperately sad.

“This is what it’s supposed to feel like all the time, isn’t it?” she gets out, between fresh sobs.

“Yeah,” you reply, barely above a whisper, pulling her close and kissing her lightly. “I think it is.”

It’s so clear you’ve been living out your lives with the wrong people, clearer than it’s ever been. You hold her tight, stroking her hair and shushing her in the hope it’ll soothe her somehow. Eventually, her tears subside, and then you’re just holding each other.

“It should’ve always been you,” she says, head on your chest as the light from the rising sun filters through your curtains. “Do you still love me?”

The question comes in the exhale of content breath, but it so unexpected, it throws you entirely, shaking you out of the beginnings of drowsiness, and you pull back to look at her, making sure she can see you when you answer.

“I’ve always loved you,” you say, without hesitation.

“So have I,” she replies, quicker still. “But now I know what it means.”

This time, you don’t have an answer. She’s rendered you speechless. So you do the only thing you can, you surge forward and kiss her, hard and fast, hoping she understands what this means too. You never expected this. You never dared dream of it.

Until now.


	7. The Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faced with Karma’s imminent return to Connecticut, Amy is forced to consider what the future might hold for them, and if she can remain a part of Karma’s life once she leaves New York.
> 
> _“You’re dreaming. You have to be dreaming.”_  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are folks, the final chapter. Thank you for all the love and support I’ve received on this one, it’s your comments and feedback that keep me going well beyond the point I imagined I’d write for these two. I really enjoyed writing this, and I’m sad it’s over, but I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it just as much. Special shout-out to @spasticandviolent for continuing to be an awesome partner in creative crime. These stories are always better for your involvement. You always know where I’m going with these characters, but you’re not afraid to challenge where they might end up. Thank you. Click [here](http://8tracks.com/lazarusgirl/always) to listen to the mix inspired by the story.

Everything is different now. 

You’ve thought that a lot in the past week. Sometimes, what’s happened between you and Karma feels like a slow, incremental thing that’s happened over the course of the last five years. Other times, like right now, it feels lightning fast – a sudden fork or a sharp bend in the road that is your life. You waited, and waited, and waited some more for her to return your feelings, and the second you stopped thinking about them ever _being_ returned, they were.

It’s hard to wrap your head around. It’s hard because all you want is for Karma to be able to stay, so you can talk and figure out what the hell’s going on and where you stand. You don’t know much right now, but you do know that you don’t want her to leave, and there’s no way you can go back to being friends. Too much has happened for that. Change hasn’t always been good for you, especially where she’s concerned, but you’d never change anything about this week. You’d spare her the heartbreak, and the pain of going through what she has with Ethan (and maybe all that came before, right back to Liam), but nothing else. You’re pretty sure you could stand all the confusion and the rejection if you could go back and tell your 15-year-old self that in five years time, she’d wake up in the bedroom of a New York apartment, and Karma would be in her arms after spending the night together for the very first time.

You feel like shouting it from the rooftops. Everyone should be informed.

The 15-year-old you would probably laugh about all of this, or at least snort derisively, but it makes it no less true. You’ve always loved Karma, but this is different. You’re _in_ love with her. Capital ‘L’ love. Caps lock L-O-V-E like that old song. It terrifies you and fascinates you and excites you in ways you can’t name and no one else has measured. The improbable – this was never entirely impossible, you both know that – has happened, and it’s wonderful, it’s perfect and everything you hoped. You can stop dreaming now, you can stop wanting to change the past and rewrite it for a better outcome. No, you can’t change any of it, no matter how you wish and you could, because it led you to this point. It led you to sitting on a bench waiting for her train to come, inches between you, smiling at each other and stealing glances, like you’re both sharing some important secret. You’re surrounded by people – reading newspapers, on their phones, pacing the platform, soothing fussy babies, wrangling bags – but you don’t really see anyone but Karma.

You’ll have to say goodbye soon, but this time it’s just letting go for a little while.

The whole day has been laced with a heavy sadness because the time on Karma’s ticket has arrived far too quickly. She needs to go, you know that. She can’t just hide out here. There are things that need to be faced, with Ethan and her professors. She’s gained so much by coming here, that’s obvious, but she’s lost a lot too. It’s selfish, but you feel more than a little short-changed, especially now everyone else you know has someone in their life that’s not going anywhere at all. Jordan and Tyler, Matt and Bennett, Charlie and Cassie – yes, really, you’ve missed a lot more than Charlie’s poetry at the reading last night – and then there’s you and Karma, soon to be separated when that train comes in, whisking her back off to Connecticut before you’ve really had a chance at anything. You’re not stupid, you know that Karma’s experience of last night could be really different from your own. Sleeping with a girl is a huge deal even before you put yourself and the history you both have back into the equation. For all you know, this could just be a one night, one time thing.

There _has_ been talking, you just talked about everything but that. This morning, you just held her, content to listen to her talk about how the day would and how much she was looking forward to seeing _Casablanca_ , You’ve seen it thousands of times, but never how you did his afternoon, sitting next to her in the back row, hand-in-hand sharing popcorn and soda, watching as she mouthed Ingrid Bergman’s lines word for word. Just like Rick and Ilsa will always have Paris, you and Karma will always have New York. Whatever happens, no one can take away what you’ve shared, and that’s comforting.

It’s only now you realise this is the first time you haven’t held hands with her. You held hands during the walk to Washington Square with everyone trading gossip and looks, glancing over at you and Karma with such fondness it _hurt_ somehow – they’re all so happy for you they can barely contain themselves (Jordan almost hugged you to death and the combined noise of Cassie and Matt running around the apartment screeching was enough to wake the dead too.) You still held her hand during breakfast and made other plans for the final week of school, realising too late that she wouldn’t be here, touched by the fact the others had unconsciously included her – it’s the first time you’ve seen her look anything approaching sad about leaving. You even held her hand while she read over your paper and marked out corrections like a teacher. She said you’d ace it. For once, you believed her. So, you do the only thing you can given you’re in a different public place without the protection of your friends. You slide your hand across the bench, and link your pinkie with hers. She looks down at it and then back up at you, wearing the shyest of smiles.

“I had the best day,” she says, in this soft, sweet way. “Thank you.”

“Me too,” you reply, shifting along the bench just a little. “I’m glad you had fun.”

“I’m with you,” she offers, simply, easily.

You blush deeply, glancing away. She says sweet, complimentary things all the time, but there’s that difference again. The difference that shows, starkly, whatever lines were once between you have been redrawn. Not shifted or blurred, they’re gone.

“Are you OK with everything?” you venture, suddenly nervous about her response.

If the lines are gone, then the barricades you put up to protect yourself are gone too. There’s no delicate way to talk about the morning after, no matter how good it was, but this is about more than sex. It’s about every little thing leading up to it, beginning when she turned up at your door a week ago in tears. Lifetimes ago.

“Amy,” she begins, waiting until you look back at her, “I’m more than OK.”

You let out a breath, relieved. “Good, I was worried,” and then, quickly because her brows furrow in confusion, “about you and what you’re feeling, and Ethan and everything. It’s a lot.”

That doesn’t even begin to cover it.

At the mention of his name, she flinches, and you hate yourself for being the one to say it aloud. She turns to face you fully, clasping your hand between both of hers. The only obstacle between you is her backpack on the ground. The smallest of buffers.

“I don’t care about Ethan anymore. I never really did, you made me see that.” That’s not the reply you were expecting. You open your mouth to speak, but then think better of it. She heaves a breath, voice lowering. “When I woke up with you this morning, when you were the first person I saw, I knew I never really loved him. I loved who I _thought_ he was. That charming, sweet guy who helped me around campus when I got lost, and held open doors, and brought me flowers didn’t stay as long as I wanted him to,” she pauses to steady herself, looking like she might cry, and you squeeze her hand.

“It’s OK, you don’t need to explain.”

That’s not entirely true. You know this is hard for her, but she needs to say this as much as you need to hear it. You don’t need validation exactly, this isn’t some stupid, petty game where you score points, but you just want to know that what you think Karma feels and what she actually feels are the same. She’s a hard read, for most people, but even you have trouble when it comes to how she feels about you. After years of never quite being on the same page, you’re just used to having to hold back.

“But, I do,” she starts. “I need to because I was wrong about him, and you, and us all this time.”

“You were?” you blurt out accidentally, and regret it, because it sounds like you have an agenda.

You never expected any of this. It’s never been a case of him versus you, like it was with Liam. You’ve never made her choose, but maybe you chose for her, and that choice wasn’t the right one. You see that now.

“Yes. I always thought that sweet guy would come back, but he never did. The longer we were together, the less of him existed. And when I left to come to New York, I realised this whole time I’d been in love with someone who wasn’t even real. He was in my head.”

“Oh, Karm, I’m sorry.”

You mean it. She might not think so, but you do. You hate that he hurt her so much. You hate that he did it so easily.

“I’m not,” she shakes her head, smiling now. “I’m not because I realised something else while I’ve been here with you,” she pauses, letting out a long, unsteady breath. “I had to reach my lowest point so I knew what the highest point would feel like.”

Another pause. You swallow, heart racing, mouth suddenly dry. You couldn’t interrupt her if you wanted to.

“This is the high,” she continues, emphatic. “ _You’re_ the high, Amy. I don’t think I’m in love this time, I know I am,” she’s beaming now, full and bright. It’s beautiful.

You’re dreaming. You have to be dreaming.

“You’re – you – what?” you stutter, blinking back surprise.

“You heard.”

“Say it again,” you ask, smiling.

“I said, I know I’m in love with you,” she declares, with a confidence you’ve never heard before. “Real love.”

No, actually, you’re not dreaming, you’re dead and this is obviously the afterlife. You really wish you weren't in this station right now, because all you want to do is squeeze her to death and kiss her beautiful face off. It takes an eternity for you to finally stop gaping her, speechless, before you can find the right words and somehow not turn into a blubbering mess because she’s said everything you’ve ever wanted, and she means it.

“I feel that way too.” Her relief is palpable. “I’ve loved you for so long,” you continue, quietly, vaguely aware of tears stinging at the back of your eyes, welling, threatening to fall.

“I know,” she whispers, somehow closer than before. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it.”

“But you do now,” you smile. “And that’s what matters,” you assure her, blinking back tears. “We need a lot longer than we have to talk about this –”

“Our timing fucking _sucks_ ,” she says sadly, just as the announcement for her train comes over the speaker system.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

“Shit, I …” you pause, flustered, seeing the train in the distance. “I do want to be with you, and I know you have stuff to work out, and we’ll need to do long distance, and it’ll suck, but we can’t waste this, Karm.”

“I know, I know,” she replies, hurriedly, forced to let go of your hand as she stands to gather her things.

You panic suddenly, because there are a thousand things you have to say and about twenty seconds to say them in. You’re not even sure if she has her ticket, or all the stuff she came with, and that’s before everything else that’s on the tip of your tongue that has nothing to do with trains, Connecticut, papers or psycho exes. _God_ , you love her. You haven’t even said it properly. You spent the night with the love of your life – the most beautiful girl in the world – you made love, and it was beyond amazing, and it can’t just end like this.

“Look, don’t answer me now, OK? I don’t want to rush you, or pressure you, or anything like that, we’ll take it slow,” you continue, walking quickly along the platform to keep up with her. “We can talk about it when we’re home for Christmas and decide then, OK?”

“OK,” she replies, so quietly you barely hear it with the noise of the train and all the people jostling to board.

The train is here. When Karma turns to look at you, her eyes are filled with tears. You don’t want to let her go like this.

“Hey, hey,” your hands fly to her face, quickly brushing away her tears. “It’ll go really quick. Call me when you get into the station OK? Or when you get to Nat’s. Just let me know you’re safe.”

This time, she doesn’t say anything, she just pulls you into a tight, but rushed hug. She fishes out her ticket from her jacket pocket, checks the time and her seat, and heads for her compartment. The second she starts to walk away, your heart sinks. You turn your back on her because you can’t physically watch her leave, and look up at the dark, overcast sky, willing yourself not to cry here and now. You can cry later when Matt comes to get you, and curl up on the sofa with him, a vat of ice cream and Ryan Gosling for company.

 _Fuck._ She’s barely gone and you miss her.

“Amy, Amy!” she calls, and you immediately turn.

“What?” you yell back, knowing the train will leave without her if she’s not careful. You walk back a few paces, desperate to be nearer.

“I already have an answer,” she begins, gulping in air. It feels the whole station is watching, not just the last few people boarding her train. “Yes!”

She’s so brave. She’s so much braver than you ever were.

You’re so proud of her, so stupidly, ridiculously proud of her. She finally did it. She stepped off the edge with you, and you’re in free fall, together, for the first time. You don’t care who sees and what they think. Fuck them, and fuck your irrational hatred of PDA. You rush towards her, and grab her face, capturing her lips in a heated kiss. You ignore the whistles from the frat boys, and the vague smattering of applause. You just keep kissing her, slowly, deeply, feeling her arms wrap around your waist. You hope it says what you don’t have time for. _I love you, I wish you could stay. I know we can do this. I’ll make you so happy. I’ll give you the love you deserve_. Too soon, she’s forced to pull away and rush onto the train with seconds to spare, leaving you on the platform to wave her off, smiling like an idiot, lips still buzzing from the feeling of kissing her. Your heart is somewhere in your throat, and you’re currently flying high above cloud nine. Happy doesn’t even begin to cover it. Forget the tears and the ice cream, you’ll be breaking out the JD and Coke.

Except, you do feel like crying, because Karma’s gone. The train is small now, speeding off into the distance, taking her away from you when you really only just got a hold. That sinking feeling is back. All the magic – all that glorious, romantic Technicolor is gone. The credits should be rolling right now, or at the very least, you’re headed toward another act. It’s colder suddenly, and you bury your hands in your coat pockets and start to walk down the platform, headed for the station exit. You lost your gloves somewhere and Karma still has your beanie and scarf, but you don’t really mind, because it means a little piece of you is with her. Even though you have somewhere to go, and vague plans for the rest of the day, without Karma here, you feel strangely adrift, like the first time you walked down this platform flanked by your parents in a rare display of togetherness.

It’s Connecticut, not the moon. It’s just a week.

Just a week and then she’ll be back home with you. Together again. Everyone will be back home. Lauren, Shane, Liam. Everyone. You’ll get to spend Christmas with Karma. As a couple. For real. The thought alone makes you smile, lifting your mood. It’s a surprise when you see just how happy you look in the reflection station windows, weaving through the other people coming into the station. You wonder if they can feel happiness too, radiating off you. It’s going to be perfect. You’ll have so much time with her and everyone. You’ll get to make it official and everyone will remember because it’s the Holidays. Christmas is her favourite holiday. She gets really into it. Resistance is futile. She has no time for Scrooges. You’ll get roped into decorating every available surface with tinsel candy canes and lights. There will be parties and carolling and eggnog, and ridiculous amounts of food, and your nana will visit and drag you all to church, but you’ll go and you’ll even wear a dress, because Karma will be there with you, and it won’t feel like an obligation to be there. She makes everything better. Even Christmas services for _very_ lapsed Christians.

And then, as you walk up the stairs from the station exit, you realise it: you have to get her a present. You haven’t bought one yet because truthfully, you didn’t know if you should, and then agonised over what it should be (what was too much, and what wasn’t). But now, you _need_ to and it’s a huge thing, because it’s not _just_ a present for you best friend anymore, it’s a present for your girlfriend. You’ve never done that before. None of your relationships made it all the way to December. Hell, some of them barely made it past January. At least you don’t have to try and do it alone, you have reinforcements. To take your mind off Karma’s leaving, Matt promised to come and meet you near The Whitney Museum to tell you about the poetry-night-turned-date and help him pick out presents for his sister, Lucy, and the all-important first gift for Bennett from 192 Books in Chelsea. It’s still open for a couple of hours, and now you have someone to share your excitement and anxiety with because he’s going through all the same things.

When your phone goes off in your pocket, you’re sure it’ll be Matt to check you haven’t drowned in a pool of your own tears, but it’s not. It’s Karma. There comes that idiotic grin again. You don’t care who sees.

 

 **Karma (14:38 PM):  
** I miss you already :(

Just reading that makes your heart hurt a little. 

 **Amy (14:38 PM):  
** Me too xx

 **Karma (14:38 PM):**  
Are you doing anything on  
December 24th?

 **Amy (14:40 PM):**  
Trying to guess what’s in my presents,  
keeping my nana away from the mulled  
wine, avoiding my mom and adult  
responsibility. The usual :)

 **Karma (14:40 PM):  
** Funny. 

 **Karma (14:41 PM):**  
How about a date?  
A real date. Like an  
early Christmas present?

 

You stop walking, just staring at the screen, re-reading the message four times before answering, because _how is this even happening?!_ You want to talk to her now, hear her voice, but your hands are shaking too much to dial, and you’re not sure you could even speak. You text back the first thing that comes into your head. No filter.

 

 **Amy (14:43 PM):  
** I’d love to xxx

 **Karma (14:43 PM):  
** I can’t wait. xxx

 

You read that reply seven times before you pocket your phone and carry on toward the museum. Ordinarily, you’d bitch to yourself about the cold and take a cab, but you don’t care. It could be fifty below and you’d still walk. You’re not even walking anymore, you’re running, looking at all the decorations in the windows as you pass. You need Matt to see this. You need him to see her texts, and tell him everything that happened over too much coffee and cake. He can yell and dance around all he wants. You won’t be shushing him this time, because you’re not embarrassed anymore, you’re proud. You’re ridiculously, deliriously, happy and no one can bring you down.

Karma loves you. Karma loves you now.


End file.
